


Music For A Song

by jujubiest



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Angst, Humor, M/M, Original Character(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 116,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between forbidden crushes, self-hatred, crazy relatives, his own long list of mistakes, and the neurosis of everyone around him, Dave only knows one thing: he's crazy about Kurt Hummel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kiss

Since the first day of high school, Kurt Hummel had been shoved, dumped, slushied, and swirled. He had endured glares, taunts, threats, and more than a few scrapes and bruises. But nothing had ever made him feel as sick, as terrified and degraded and powerless, as his first kiss.

First kisses were supposed to be special, so how had his ended up so wrong? He tried to tell himself it didn't count in a million different ways, everything from the fact that he'd actually been kissed by a girl before to reminding himself that it was nonconsensual, practically assault. But none of that could get the horrific, bare facts out of his head: another boy's mouth had been pressed passionately—almost desperately—against his in a kiss. It didn't count, but it did. David Karofsky had stolen the first kiss that would have meant something.

He didn't know what had made him do it, whether it was his recent encounter at Dalton Academy with the possibility that things could be better, or the fact that Blaine Anderson had smiled at him and given him a single word, a mantra: Courage. If he were honest with himself, that last shove had probably just been his breaking point. Everyone had one, right? All he really knew was that one moment he had been standing in the hallway, practically glowing with happiness at the screen of his phone bearing that single, life-edifying word from Blaine, and the next the phone had been slapped from his hands and he had felt himself hurled by a large, bulky form into the row of lockers. And  _then…_

Usually the first thing he registered was shock, the second pain. This time, the shock gave way straight into a blind fury that he had never felt before, and the anger wiped out all the fear and dulled the pain of the bruises surely starting to form on his back. He didn't stop to think about what he was doing, he just went tearing after Karofsky, bursting into the otherwise deserted locker room and proceeding to scream uncontrollably at the other boy.

"I am talking to you!" Karofsky's broad back was to him, and he didn't turn, he didn't look at Kurt at all.

"Girls' locker room's next door."

"What is your problem?"

"Excuse me?" Now he did look at Kurt, and Kurt fought an urge to take a step back.  _Courage._

"What are you so scared of?"

"'Sides you sneakin' in here to peek at my junk?"

"Oh yeah, every straight guy's nightmare, that all us gays are secretly out to molest and convert you. Well guess what ham hock, you're not my type."  _Did I just call him 'ham hock?' Oh Gaga, he's going to hit me._

"Is that right?" Karofsky's voice was low and dangerous as he squared off with Kurt, his brows contracted over his eyes in a threatening glare. Figuring he would be beaten to a pulp for this anyway, Kurt threw what remained of his caution and control to the wind.

"Yeah. I don't dig on chubby boys who sweat too much and are going to be bald by the time they're thirty!"

"Do not push me, Hummel."  _Here it comes,_ thought Kurt.  _He's going to hit me._

"You gonna hit me? Do it."  _Get it over with because I'd rather be hurt than scared all the time._

"Don't push me!"

"Hit me 'cause it's not going to change who I am. You can't punch the gay out of me anymore than I could punch the ignoramus out of you!" Karofsky's expression crumpled, and the desperation in his voice was more frightening than his glare or his fists.

"Then get outta my face!" Kurt couldn't, he couldn't stop now, he had walked into it and he was going to finish it once and for all. And the gleam—a tear?—in Karofsky's eye had just confirmed something Kurt had suspected all along.

"You are nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are!"

* * *

Kurt had no way of knowing how beautiful he was in those moments. His pale face was flushed, his eyes were a steely blue-green-grey, or just all cold colors at once, glossy with unshed tears of frustration and anger, and his chin was jutting out aggressively. And he was so  _close_. Karofsky knew for a fact that Kurt Hummel had never willingly been this close to him before, more out of fear than anything, and his bravery just made everything about him glow brighter. His voice was musical even as he shouted, and a lock of hair fell haphazardly into his eyes. This wasn't the bitchy diva that sashayed down the halls looking superior and perfect, and this wasn't the frightened but longsuffering martyr that picked himself up off the ground and went about his life in silence. This was Kurt Hummel with all of his perfect control stripped away. Karofsky thought—with the part of his mind that wasn't about to be driven insane, that is—that no one, man or woman, gay, straight, or indifferent, could have possibly denied that he was beautiful, and irresistible, in his fury. So when that last sentence—so painful, so true—came across his face accompanied by the sweet smell of Kurt's breath, David Karofsky did the only thing he could think of doing in that moment.

He lunged towards Kurt with face and hands, and for a wild and terrifying second the smaller boy thought he was going to actually try to rip his head off. But a large hand cupped his face at his jawline, the long fingers splayed against his cheek, holding him there. And then Karofsky was kissing him, and a sound that was half defeat and half desire came tumbling out of his throat to vibrate against Kurt's lips as his entire body locked up in shock. It didn't matter that he didn't kiss back; Karofsky's lips were like every other part of him, stronger than Kurt, and they moved Kurt's without his permission, without his consent. There was heat, and there was passion, and the fact that it was all one-directional was lost upon the taller of the two boys, his mind completely taken up with the kiss. Kurt tasted like strawberries.

 _My first kiss_ , Kurt thought, and the thought was detached from the act, from any emotion that should have gone with it. In the resulting vacuum, it latched onto the only emotion Kurt could muster: a kind of fearful surprise.

When Karofsky opened his eyes, he saw the shock, and the fear—well, wasn't he afraid as well? Wasn't his heart pounding like he'd just run a marathon?—and he searched Kurt's face for only a moment before he leaned in again, intent upon gaining a second kiss. That's when other emotions started to register in Kurt: horror…disgust…and pain. Without thinking, he pushed the other boy away violently, with more strength than Karofsky would have thought Kurt's slender arms capable of. He backed away, looking like nothing so much as a cornered animal about to be beaten, and the realization hit Karofsky, unwelcome and cold.

The kiss that, for him, had been an incredible release, had just been more torment for the other boy. He wanted to deny it, but the proof was etched in Kurt's terrified eyes, his gaping, frozen lips, the defensively upraised hand. The sense of release—nothing had ever felt quite so  _right_ —disappeared, leaving behind an empty, cold feeling filled with the words Kurt had spoken just moments before. He didn't want to kiss David. He hated and feared him. He found him laughable, stupid, sweaty and chubby…repulsive.

He did the only thing he could do then; he ran.


	2. The Kiss

In the days that followed The Kiss, Dave tried to think about anything other than Kurt Hummel. During class he focused on his work. He was smart, and even used to make straight A's, but concentration had grown increasingly difficult as he became angrier and angrier with himself and everyone else. In the hallways, he focused on his friends, successfully amusing them with stupid jokes and talk about sports. He avoided Kurt's locker and the hallway in front of the choir room.

Lunch was the hardest. There, his usual table put him directly in sight of Kurt and his group of friends. Watching Kurt's lips widen around his perfect white teeth in a smile, hearing his high voice as he joked with the girls—"Who's a diva  _now,_ Miss Mercedes?"—it made Dave's mouth ache. It also made him nervous. Had Kurt told anyone? Would Kurt tell anyone? He hoped the boy would be too afraid…and then hated himself for hoping such a thing.

At home, things were just as bad. He couldn't talk to his parents, and he couldn't bear the way their eyes followed him worriedly. He knew he was hurting and disappointing them, but when he tried to weigh that against how hurt and disappointed they'd be if they found out their only son was…

He couldn't even think it to himself. If he thought the words, it would be like coming out to himself. As long as he never thought about it, never acted on it, he could be straight and normal and he could be Dave Karofsky, hockey player, football player, top dog…big bully. He spent a lot of time in his room alone, trying to think about anything but Kurt Hummel and The Kiss. That kiss scared him more than anything he'd ever done. It was a step outside the box you absolutely couldn't leave if you wanted to be normal. In life, Karofsky knew all too well—at least in high school life—it didn't pay to be a soloist. The only way to avoid getting stepped on or left behind was to sing in perfect unison with everyone else, making sure your voice was just loud enough, but never so loud that it could be picked out from the rest of the singers.

Dave groaned and rolled over. Damn Kurt Hummel to the ninth circle of hell…he had Dave thinking in musical metaphors.


	3. Klangfarbenmelodie

"David," said his mother one night over supper, and Dave stiffened instantly in his chair. He could tell, just by the tone of her voice, that her next words were going to be unpleasant. She sounded stressed, like she expected an outburst from him, and he almost felt bad about that. But then she opened her mouth.

"I've been talking to your Aunt Karen, David. Melodie's going to be staying with us for awhile."

Dave choked on his food.  _What? Oh dear sweet God, what did I do to deserve this?_

Not one to hold back his true feelings—well, with one tiny little exception—he repeated his inner monologue to his mother as soon as he could speak again. She looked at him disapprovingly.

"Now David, don't start. I know you and Melodie haven't always gotten along so well—"

"When I was seven, she shaved the word 'Barbie' onto my head—"

"—but she's been having a hard time at school, kind of acting out, and—"

"When I was twelve she fed me dog food coated in sugar and told me it was candy—"

"Aunt Karen thought we could get her away from some of the bad influences she's run up against—"

"Don't kid yourself, mom. Melodie  _is_ the bad influence. Two summers ago she put tacks in my bed—"

"David, enough!" His mother was apparently tired of talking over him. She glared at her husband, who was just sitting and watching the two of them, trying very hard not to laugh. Then she turned her glare on her son.

"Look, this will be an adjustment. But she'll have her own room, we're going to do the attic up for her, and we'll even install a lock on your door if you want so she can only come in if you let her in. Just please, be supportive about this, David. Karen is really worried about her and we're the only people she trusts to keep Melodie."

"You mean we're the only people stupid enough to  _agree_  to keep Melodie," said Dave under his breath, but he cringed at his mom's look and subsided. They finished the meal in silence, then Dave surprised his mom by rinsing off his own dish and putting it away before heading straight up to his room…and slamming the door. She sighed.

* * *

Melodie Bloom was a problem child. Precocious, her mother called her, but her father just said she was too damn smart for her own good. She had gotten expelled from her private school for protesting their censorship of the school newspaper a little too overzealously, and so her parents were shipping her off to stay with her Aunt Gina and Uncle Paul for the remainder of the school year. She sulked about it; she couldn't stand Gina, but she consoled herself with the thought of her cheerful uncle, and even more so with the idea of playing pranks on their son, David. He was two years older than her and a hell of a lot bigger, but that had never stopped her before. In fact, although Dave had probably forgotten about it by now, that was what had egged her on in the first place.

It had been the first time she'd made the ridiculous drive from Maine to Lima, Ohio with her parents to visit her dad's sister and her family. She had been four or five, and a complete tomboy, and thanks to her parents' upbringing she had never once encountered the idea that she couldn't do something because she was a girl. But Lima was a small town, and small town attitudes sometimes rub off on people, especially young people preoccupied with worries about catching cooties. So when she tried to join in a game of football with the boys in the back yard, she was shooed away, and informed by a haughty, chubby older boy that "girls can't play football, stupid."

Melodie grinned, remembering the shiner she'd given him. Of course, that was nothing to what she'd done when she'd found out that this Neanderthal was actually related to her, was Gina and Paul Karofsky's precious Davey. She had made it her life's mission to show David Karofsky that there was  _nothing_ a girl couldn't or wouldn't do, and it had become almost a tradition over the years among their entire family, seeing what prank she'd pull on him next. The last time, she had admittedly gone a bit far with the tacks, and she hadn't been invited back since. Yet now here she was, staring out of her window at the tarmac, waiting for the okay to exit the airplane, on her way to Lima to stay for  _months._ She grimaced, then forced the expression into a grin. At least she could have some fun with Davey while she was in exile.

* * *

When his alarm went off on Monday morning, Dave was so sleepy he just rolled over and threw it at the wall. He was awake enough to feel annoyed that the damn thing didn't break, just kept right on buzzing. Then a much,  _much_ more annoying sound reached his ears.

" _Cheeeeer up sleeeeeepy Jeeeeean! Oh, what can it mean t_ _o a daydreeeeeeam believer or a hoooomecoming queeeeeeen!"_

Grumbling about annoying cousins that should be euthanized, he crawled out of bed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It was going to be a long-ass rest of the year.

Half an hour later, he was pulling up to the school, grousing internally about shower-hogging cousins and having to go to school with stubble. Melodie was oblivious, or at least acting that way, singing along to the radio in a chipper way that made Dave want to rip her head right off. She sang from the moment they got in the car to the moment they got out, and then she just put her iPod headphones in and kept right on singing as she entered the school!

William McKinley High School had never seen anything quite like her, that was for sure. She was short, petite in that round way that calls Cabbage Patch Kids to mind, with a very round, pale little face and pointed chin, a turned-up, adorable nose, a smattering of disorganized freckles, and short, choppily layered hair in multiple shades of red, orange, blonde, brown, and black. To add to the confusion between cute roundness and rough edges, she was wearing a little lime green bow in her hair on one side, quite a lot of eyeliner, a pair of men's camouflaged cargo shorts that hit just below her knee, and a baby pink tank top with a white button-up blouse buttoned halfway up over it…and lime green tennis shoes.

[ ](http://www.polyvore.com/melodie_blooms_first_day/set?.svc=copypaste&id=29802990)

  


[Melodie Bloom's First Day](http://www.polyvore.com/melodie_blooms_first_day/set?.svc=copypaste&id=29802990) by [theraisingirl](http://theraisingirl.polyvore.com/?.svc=copypaste) featuring [nylon shoes](http://www.polyvore.com/nylon_shoes/shop?query=nylon+shoes)

Just to complete—or throw off—the look more, on her nose was perched a pair of round, wide-framed, yellow-tinted glasses that made her look something like a Cabbage Patch Punk Rock Bumblebee. It was weird. As she walked down the hallway toward the principal's office to sign herself in, she caught the attention of a pair of gleeks grabbing books out of their lockers.

Mercedes turned, her eyes popping a little, to watch the girl walk by.

"Damn…either that girl has no style at all or she's channeling Gaga, Joan Jett,  _and_ Madonna all at once."

"Oh please, Mercedes," scoffed Kurt, turning his fashion-critical eye toward the girl as well. "If anything, she's channeling Avril Lavigne coupled with a post-sellout Alanis Morissette. I'm surprised she didn't throw on a clip-on tie!"

"What did you just say, Hummel?" Kurt felt his stomach drop as he and Mercedes turned to face a very angry David Karofsky.

"Um, n-nothing," said Kurt, "nothing you'd be interested in, just a little friendly commentary from a rival fashionista—"

"That's my cousin you're commenting on, Hummel. It'd  _better_ be nothing." And with a menacing lunge toward him that had Kurt cowering against the locker, Karofsky was gone.

"Uhh, Kurt?" Mercedes was looking at him strangely.

"Mmm?" She just continued to stare at him pointedly.

He realized then that when Karofsky had lunged at him, he'd instinctively thrown both hands tightly over his mouth.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident, and then it was time for hockey practice. Catching his cousin in the hall, Dave hastily explained that she would need to call one of his parents for a ride home. She grumbled, of course.

"I don't wanna be stuck with Aunt Gina for hours while you go figure skating. Can't I just stay and watch or something?"

"No freaking way, Melodie," said Dave through clenched teeth, choosing to ignore the figure skating comment. "I am  _not_ giving you the chance to embarrass me in front of the whole team."

"Well, what am I supposed to  _do_ until you're done?" Dave was really getting exasperated.

"How am I supposed to know? Do I look like your damn babysitter? Just find some other club to join or something."

"Fine, I will!" She gave him the finger and stalked off.

It wasn't until much later that Karofsky realized his mistake.


	4. Audition

"Okay guys, today we have a new student who would like to try out for Glee Club. Everyone please give a warm welcome to Miss Melodie Bloom."

Ten faces stared with interest, two with disbelief, at the petite girl in her colorful and mismatched getup. Her cheeks pinked a little bit, but her shoulders were squared and she met every pair of eyes with open defiance. Melodie Bloom shied away before no one. Mr. Shuester sat down at the piano and looked at her expectantly.

"Well, Melodie, what would you like to sing for us today?" Melodie looked at him, a little uncertainly, and then turned to the band.

"Um, do you guys know 'Only Happy When It Rains' by Garbage?" A few eyebrows raised around the room, but she wasn't paying any attention to them, her eyes intent upon the band's response. One guy with shaggy, sand-colored hair and big glasses—she supposed he was their leader—nodded minutely, and the band struck up the opening chords.

" _I'm only happy when it rains. I'm only happy when it's complicated. And though I know you can't appreciate it, I'm only happy when it rains. You know I love it when the music's bad. Oh why's it feel so good to feel so sad? I'm only happy when it rains…"_

Despite the fact that only a few of the members of the club had ever listened to Garbage—Rachel, because she listened to ALL music, and Puck because he'd had the hots for the lead singer when he was, like, twelve—they found themselves getting into it.

_My only comfort is the night gone black...I didn't accidentally tell you that. I'm only happy when it rains._

It was a different kind of music than they usually sang. It was raw with emotion but subdued, somehow, and Melodie's voice and general manner complimented the mood of the song perfectly. She really got into it, tapping her foot to the beat, gesturing with her hands, and flipping her head as she sang so that her short, multicolored hair spiked around her face. She looked like a rock star.

" _You'll get the message by the time I'm through…when I complain about me and you, I'm only happy when it rains."_

By the time the song was over, the entire club was dancing and singing along, even the initially skeptical Kurt and Mercedes. She was  _good…_ not their usual by any means, but good, and she fit a niche none of the rest of them had yet claimed for their own. Within the space of ten minutes, Melodie found herself being accepted into the Glee Club with much less ruffling of feathers than usually would have gone on…though of course she couldn't be expected to know that. Smiling at their congratulations, she took a seat on the other side of Kurt, and while Mr. Shue began to talk about their assignment for the week, she leaned over conspiratorially.

"Hey, Kurt, right?"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to point out that there's no way in hell Avril Lavigne could ever mix baby pink and camo and make it work."

Kurt whipped his head around to stare at the new girl, but she had leaned back in her chair and was listening intently to Mr. Shuester, not even the hint of a smirk on her face to confirm that he'd just heard what he thought he'd heard.

 _Great,_ he thought sourly,  _that's just great. It isn't bad enough Karofsky terrorizes me in the hallways; now Karofskette is going to be pulling mental sneak attacks during Glee practice too!_ He huffed internally and turned his attention back to Mr. Shue, just in time to miss the smirk find its way onto Melodie's mouth after all.


	5. Dissonance

"You did  _what?_ " Dave was looking at his cousin in mute horror, and it was so inappropriately melodramatic to the situation that she couldn't help but laugh.

"Wow, David," she said between guffaws, "you sounded like…I'd told you I'd…killed someone…or made out with a teacher." The horrified look didn't leave his face, and she seemed to find this hysterical. Dave, however, felt slightly sick to his stomach.

"You have to quit," he said, his voice a little strangled. She stopped laughing then.

"Uh, how about…no?" she said sarcastically. "Who do you think you are, Dave? You told me to join a club and I found one I liked. Now you're telling me I have to quit? I don't have to do a damn thing, you're not—"

"You can _not_ be in Glee Club, Melodie!"

"And why is that?"

_Because you'll get to see Kurt Hummel every day. Because you might become his friend. Because you'll tell my parents what I've been up to at school. Because he might tell you what I did._

"Because the Glee Club is for losers! They're the absolute bottom of the totem pole, the last link on the food chain. They can't get any lower on the social ladder, the rung they're hanging off of is already underground!" His cousin snorted derisively and gave him a disgusted look.

"Seriously? You think I care? There's no way I'm going to fit in at your stupid hick school anyway. I might as well find some fellow misfit-losers to hang out with while I'm here."

"Melodie—"

"Just shut up, David. God, I knew you were a chauvinistic jerk but I never realized you were so fucking  _weak._ " And with that she ran up the stairs toward her attic and slammed the door, leaving Dave alone and feeling like he'd been slapped in the face.

* * *

_She's right. I'm a pathetic jerk. I'm weak. I'm such a loser._ Dave was lying on his stomach in bed, propped up on his elbows with his head in his hands. He had homework, but he couldn't think about it. Whenever he tried to focus his brain on anything, he thought of shining, steely eyes and flushed cheeks, warm lips— _Gah._ Of course, when he tried  _not_ to focus on Kurt, his brain just jumped to the next-worst thing at the moment: the look on Melodie's face when she'd called him weak. She had looked so disgusted…and disappointed. He hated disappointing people.

The truth was, even though Melodie had always been a pain in his ass—sometimes quite literally—he had grown to have a grudging kind of admiration for her over the years. Her pranks ranged from childish to downright evil, but they were always ingeniously executed, and something in him—his sense of humor or, more likely, he thought glumly, his inner bully—couldn't help but be a little in awe. He also kind of felt like he had it coming, like Melodie was his own personal dose of karma every year for all the crap he dished out onto others at school. So he didn't like having her around, exactly, but he was weirdly flattered by all the effort she put into pranking him, and he had always gotten that she felt the same reluctant respect for the way he never failed to bounce back from each prank as if it didn't phase him. She had enjoyed dishing it out because she thought he could take it.

And now she just thought he was weak.  _Well, she's right, isn't she?_ He thought viciously.  _I'm just an overgrown kindergartner, aren't I? Shoving the…person I like into lockers and bathing them with slushies instead of just owning up to the fact that I…I'm…_

But no, he still can't bring himself to think it.

Melodie didn't speak to him for the rest of the week, and he didn't bring up Glee Club again. They rode in silence every morning—she didn't sing anymore—parted ways as soon as they reached the doors of McKinley, and didn't even look at each other if they could help it. For her part, Melodie was regretting what she'd said to Dave…at least until she remembered that horrified look in his eye, that genuine fear centered around something as trivial as high school social status.  _Who would have thought that my big, intimidating cousin is just another mindless member of the slack-jawed herd, kowtowing to the masses for a scrap of temporary recognition from a bunch of Cro-Magnons in letterman jackets?_ She couldn't stand to think about it. Every time she did, she started thinking in a language she could only describe as Raging Indignant Lobbyist. So instead, she tried to focus on getting to know the other kids in Glee Club.

* * *

To his own surprise, Kurt found himself adoring Melodie. There was something unbelievably endearing about her button-cute looks coupled with her screw-the-world sense of fashion. On Tuesday she didn't let up with the weird clothes, and her outfit on Wednesday was so unusual that he couldn't help himself, he squealed a little bit.

"Oh my Gaga, you. Are. Amazing." His face was practically glowing at her, and she couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. She had worn a pair of jeans to school with a giant hole right on the front of the thigh, along with her signature lime green sneakers and several layers of t-shirts that had been slashed, stretched, sewn, and cut so that each color could be seen around the edges of the sleeves and hem, and through various holes. To top the whole thing off, her hair was pulled up into little buns on either side of her head, tendrils of hair sticking out all around and making her look like an evil pixie. Of course, McKinley's dress code dictated that no holes were allowed above the knee on pants or skirts, so she had simply placed duct tape over the hole and written "Eff the Dress Code" in magic marker. On anyone else, it would have been too much, but on Melodie it made perfect sense.

Still, she was one to hold a grudge, and she wasn't going to let Kurt off that easily, at least not yet.

"Not going to accuse me of ripping off whiney chick rockers today, Hummel?" she asked drily. He looked hurt for a second, but then put his haughty bitch face back on and sniffed derisively.

"Fine, be that way. Guess you don't want to catch up on gossip with me and Mercedes at the mall this afternoon." Melodie rolled her eyes.

"Fine, I'll tag along on your diva outing, but on one condition." Kurt raised his eyebrows at her questioningly.

"Let my cousin tag along for the ride."

Kurt stared at her, hoping she was going to retract it as a joke. She just crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him, and suddenly she looked so much  _like_ the bullying puckhead that Kurt didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  _Of course,_ he thought,  _I should have anticipated this. Being her friend will eventually mean seeing more of Karofsky. Damn her gene pool._

On the outside, though, Kurt tried to remain calm.

"Um, I don't know about that, Melodie," he hedged.

"Why not? It'll do him good to get away from those Neanderthals he calls his friends for a few hours."

"I'm not sure he'll want to go…see…"

"What is it, Kurt?" She had noticed, in the last couple of days as she hung around the other Glee kids, that Kurt acted oddly whenever she brought up David. After that whole scene at home last night, she was pretty sure she knew why, but she wanted confirmation before she went Buffy Summers on her cousin's ass.

"C'mon Kurt, just spill it already. Why're you hating on my cousin?" At that, Kurt's eyes snapped to hers and he spit the words at her, sounding nothing like his usual sunny, diva self.

" _Me?_ Hating on  _him?_ I've never done a single thing to your stupid caveman of a cousin!"

"Hey, that's going a little far—"

"Oh please. I have not even  _begun_ to go far enough. You just got here so I'll forgive you your ignorance just this once, but in the future please refrain from suggesting that I in any way instigated any sort of problems with your stupid cousin. I just want him to leave me the hell alone."

Melody stared at Kurt's flashing eyes and flushed face, and realized that she'd taken a few steps backward.  _Damn, he's_ scary  _when you get him mad! What in hell did Dave_ do  _to him?_

"What did David do to you, Kurt?" she repeated her thought out loud, leaning in to shield their conversation from prying ears. Kurt's face fell, and for a second she thought he looked genuinely terrified before the bitch mask was back in place.

"It's nothing, Melodie. Just…don't worry about it." And he walked away.

* * *

Rachel Berry had to be the most horrifyingly chipper person Melodie had ever run across…and she'd grown up down the street from this scary old female version of Mr. Rogers, so that was saying something. But she could tell the girl cared about her friends, when she wasn't viewing them as competition for a solo, anyway. Melodie was good at reading people, and she read that Berry would be the best bet she had to get the truth about Dave. She waited until after Glee practice on Thursday, and approached Berry as she was gathering up sheet music, and when the room was empty except for the band guy with the big glasses…he seemed to never leave the room.

"Hey, Rachel?" She tried to sound uncertain and shy, and wasn't sure how successful she was, as she'd never really been either one in her life. But the other girl perked up immediately and flashed her a blinding stage smile. Berry didn't seem to have any other kind.

"You were good today, Melodie! Of course, you were a tiny bit flat on the last note, but I'm sure with a little practice—" she kept babbling as she finished gathering her things, and Melodie resigned herself to listen to the prattle as she followed Rachel out into the hall. Finally, after a rant on holding a strong, pure note that lasted the entire length of the empty hallway, Rachel turned to Melodie.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Listen to me, I just get so carried away when it comes to music. Were you wanting to ask me something?" Melodie grinned, peaking shyly out from under her spiky bangs…this always seemed to work on parents, why not Rachel?  
"I was just…I dunno, wondering if you wanted to hang out a little? I'm still pretty new and I don't know a lot of people yet—"

"Say no more!" said Rachel, squealing fit to make Kurt proud. "Come hang out at my house for awhile, we can paint our toes and talk about boys and music…it'll be great!" Melodie smiled weakly. This was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

"So, what's the deal with you guys and the football and hockey players? Well, I guess I should say us guys." Melodie was sitting on Rachel's bed, admiring her newly-painted nails. They were electric blue, a color Rachel had made a face at, but had thankfully declined to comment on. Rachel looked up from carefully sticking a flower decal onto her thumb nail. Her brow furrowed.

"You mean besides their obvious and barbaric lack of appreciation for the arts? Who knows? They just hate us. Someone, somewhere decided that Glee Club was the bottom of the food chain—" Melodie winced, remembering Dave using the same words, "And that was that. At least they've cooled it with the slushie facials and with harassing Kurt so much, though."

"Wait, what?" Rachel really looked at Melodie then, and suddenly she seemed horrified and guilty.

"Oh! Um, nothing. Forget it, it's just stupid."

"Rachel…tell me. Come on. I'm one of you guys now, if I'm going to have to deal with this I should at least know what I'm getting myself into, right?"

Rachel huffed, "Fine, I'll tell you, but don't get mad at me, I didn't want to talk bad about him because he's your cousin." Melodie just looked at her, eyebrow raised, waiting for her to continue. Rachel took a deep breath, and then proceeded to tell Melodie everything.


	6. Progression

"Yo, Karofsky!" Dave looked up from undoing his skates to see Azimio standing over him with a wicked grin on his face, and his heart sank. He knew this was coming.

"Man, it's been forever since I had me a slushie, and I'm getting' a craving…know what I mean?"

_Yes, you asshole, I know what you mean. Now how do I talk you out of it?_

"Yeah, man. But, uh, I gotta get home. My stupid cousin gets really pissy if I make her wait after practice is over." Unfortunately, Azimio wasn't deterred in the least.

"Been meaning to talk to you about that. Is your cousin the freak with the yellow sunglasses?" Dave clenched his jaw a little at the insult. He couldn't stand Melodie but she  _was_ his cousin and he wasn't going to let some jerk call her names or push her around. Even if that jerk had been his best friend practically since birth.

"Watch it, Az. She's a little weird but she's family, man." Az scowled at him.

"I heard she's joined the Glee losers. Not cool, man. You better hope she doesn't get infected with loser and bring it home where you can catch it." Dave fought the urge to roll his eyes and just fixed Azimio with a fierce look.

"Okay, Az, point taken. Look, she's a total dork but she's my cousin, and dude, she has a big mouth. I do a single thing to her or to one of her loser friends and my parents will be all up in my face  _and_ in yours."  _Not to mention Melodie breaking down the locker room door to kick my sorry ass herself,_ he thought. Sure, she was small, but he'd gotten into a fight with her once before and she fought  _dirty._ He had no desire to repeat the experience.

Azimio was staring at him with a look Dave didn't like. But finally, he just nodded.

"That's cool, man. Parents and school don't mix. I'll let the other guys know you're off slushie duty for a little while. She's gotta stay home sick sometime, right? And none of the other Glee losers would have the guts to tell on us." Dave's stomach churned…he knew Azimio wouldn't drop this, even if he let Dave get by without continuing their reign of terror. And he wasn't sure how long the excuse about his cousin would hold out. But he took what he could get for now, and turned back to removing his skates.

* * *

When he showed up at the door of the Glee classroom, he was dismayed to see that it was empty already. He'd tried to hurry, but practice had lasted longer than usual, and then he'd had that talk with Az, and by the time he'd arrived back at the school most of the cars were gone. And now Melodie was nowhere in sight. He groaned, thinking she'd probably gone with one of her new Glee buddies. What if Kurt had given her a ride home?

The thought of Kurt Hummel pulling up in front of his house made him feel a little panicky. He turned and jogged back out to his car, practically throwing himself behind the wheel and tearing out of the school parking lot with squealing tires.

When he got home, there was no vehicle out front, and he began to breathe a little easier. It was just him being paranoid. But then, where was Melodie? She didn't have a cell phone, so he couldn't call her. But if he went inside and his mom asked and he didn't know, he'd be in trouble, so he pulled out his phone and scrolled down to the Fs.

* * *

Melodie was fuming.

She had left Rachel Berry's house over an hour ago, storming out the front door with a worried Rachel calling after her, opting to walk instead of be driven to her aunt and uncle's house. She needed time to cool down, or she was sure the Karofsky in her—from her mother's side, damn heredity—would literally tear her stupid fucking homophobic jerk of a cousin limb from limb. She took deep breaths, trying to focus on something other than the angry pulsing behind her eyes. She just couldn't believe that Dave could be such a bastard.

 _Okay, I knew he'd grown up in this tiny little hole-in-the-map town all his life, and I knew his parents were kind of conventional. But I didn't think he'd ever actually try to_ hurt  _someone like that! Just because they're gay? You've got to be shitting me._

Of course, she had known Kurt was gay from the moment she'd laid eyes on him. He was practically radiating gayness, and she would know, she  _was_ exceptionally good at reading people. But she hadn't felt a need to comment on it, she'd just accepted it. It was part of Kurt…it was part of what made him so funny and cool, like his snippy attitude or his fussy sense of style, or his ridiculously amazing singing voice. She knew she was a bit of a fangirl, but honestly even if she hadn't been, she couldn't imagine Kurt any other way from the second she'd heard him criticizing her wardrobe.

So it made her angry enough to spit— _okay, now you've been in hickville waaaay too long_ —to think that her own cousin spent his days torturing the poor kid just for being brave enough to be himself without compromises.

Rachel had told her the whole story…no, literally, the  _whole_ thing. Melodie actually thought she could have done without some of the grosser details, but it certainly put her fellow club members in perspective. Puck was a loveable dumbass. Brittany wasn't just being ironic, she was really that stupid. Finn was an idiot who had his moments, Quinn had gotten pregnant last year, Mercedes was kind of a badass, and Tina and Artie used to date. Sam had barely been in Glee Club longer than Melodie. And Kurt…

Kurt was this beautiful, fragile person who hid his hurts behind a masterful combination of killer clothes, bitchy sass, and scathing wit. He was brave, and he was talented, and he was truly an individual, and he had spent every day of high school so far being thrown into dumpsters, insulted, slushied, and threatened with violence for it. To some extent, they all had, but for Kurt it seemed to be getting worse. And it was David Karofsky that seemed to be leading the charge.

She wondered idly what the technical term was for murdering one's cousin. She was literally mad enough to beat him to death without any pain to her conscience. She briefly contemplated doing the next-best thing and telling his parents what their precious son had been up to. But of course,  _she_ was the problem child, not David. They'd probably think she was just trying to start shit.

Then it hit her, suddenly and brilliantly. There were much,  _much_ better ways to make David and his stupid jock friends pay than simply telling on them. It would take some time, and some planning, and probably a lot of convincing as well, but she thought it just might work.

Feeling decidedly calmer, she turned and headed in the general direction of the Karofsky house.

* * *

Kurt was just finishing his trig homework when Finn's phone started going off. Finn was upstairs watching football with Kurt's dad. The two of them had finally started spending non-awkward time together again since the whole "faggy" ordeal, and Kurt supposed he was glad, but he was also annoyed that Finn kept leaving his stuff laying around willy-nilly. He rolled his eyes at the ringtone.  _The Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme, Finn? Really?_ If he'd heard this last year, he would have had no problem at all believing that Finn was straight. He grimaced and reached over to pick it up, not even looking at the screen. It was probably Rachel.

"Finn Hudson's phone."

There was silence on the other end.

"Hello?"  
"Uh…where's Finn?" said a low, nervous voice, and Kurt nearly dropped the phone.

"He's…upstairs." Kurt swallowed hard and then assumed his normal, prim tone of voice. "What do you want, Karofsky?"

"Um…I was supposed to give Melodie a ride home after practice, but she wasn't in the choir room. I thought Hudson might know if she got a ride home, or something."

Kurt relaxed a little. Karofsky's voice sounded civil enough, and if he just needed to know his cousin was okay, that was…well, kind of nice of him, actually.

"Finn mentioned something about Melodie going home with Rachel." He smirked at the understatement. What Finn had  _actually_ said was closer to a complaint about the amount of make-out time he was missing. But all the same, it was the information Karofsky needed.

"Oh." Dave was silent, and Kurt started to hang up. Then…

"Well, thanks Kurt. Um…listen…"

Dave didn't know what he was doing, why he was trying to say anything to Kurt Hummel. He didn't have anything to say to Kurt Hummel.  _Except that you fascinate me._ No…that he definitely didn't have to say. But Kurt was waiting, silently, on the other end of the phone. He'd stepped into it, so he might as well keep going. It couldn't possibly make things any  _worse,_ could it?

"I'm sorry…about the other day…you know. I…" Kurt cut him off.

"Look, Karofsky," Dave winced. He didn't like that Kurt only called him by his last name. He also heard the tone of voice: exasperated, and a little pitying. No, that wasn't what he wanted to hear at all, but he listened anyway.

"I know you're going through a hard time. Believe me, I really do sympathize with you about that. But you can't just keep taking it all out on me. Slushie facials because I'm a glee loser is one thing, but shoving me into lockers every day and calling me homophobic names, and then practically molesting me when I try to stand up to you—"

"Wait a minute!" Dave's voice was suddenly furious. "I didn't  _molest_ you, Hummel! I was…that was just…I don't know what that was!"

"I think you do, Karofsky." Kurt's voice was soft, gentle. It irked Dave, and it scared him, so he did what came naturally: he lashed out.

"Whatever, Hummel. Just stay away from me, I don't want to get any more infected by all your gay."  _God, you sound like an idiot. A really stupid idiot._ He thought he heard a sharp intake of breath on the phone.

"Fine," Kurt snapped. "Nothing would make me happier." He hung up.

Dave stared down at his phone, cursing silently. Here he'd had the perfect opportunity to really apologize to Kurt, to make amends between the two of them, and he'd ended up insulting him again! But even as he berated himself, he knew why he'd done it, and it wasn't just because Kurt Hummel was beautiful and bitchy and completely repulsed by him. It was because even if Kurt showed up at his locker tomorrow professing his love, it wouldn't make any difference.

Oh sure, it was nice to imagine that if Kurt liked him, it would all be okay. But if he did, what then? Kurt was out and proud, would he really want to date a closet case? No, he would want Dave to be seen with him in pubic, he would want to meet Dave's parents and be introduced as his boyfriend. He would want Dave to come out, to tell people that he was…like him. He couldn't even directly apply the label to himself in his own head yet, how was he supposed to do it out loud to his friends, or his parents?

And say he  _did_? Say he somehow worked through all the complications and came out to his friends and his parents, then what? He and Kurt would walk proudly down the sidewalk holding hands, go on dates in broad daylight, in public? Give each other quick kisses before parting ways at school? Run into each other's arms after their team won a big game, Dave lifting Kurt into his arms and spinning him around, kissing him in front of everyone?

Sure, they could do all that stuff, in between being locker-checked and thrown in dumpsters and slushied, and possibly beaten half to death by every other member of the football and hockey teams. Dave wasn't stupid. He would never be able to have that kind of relationship with Kurt, or with anyone he would want, not as long as they lived in Lima, Ohio. He pocketed his phone and put his head down on his steering wheel. Dave Karofsky wasn't a big crier under any circumstances, but right now there was a pressure behind his eyes that made his whole head ache. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the sweet pictures that all his thinking had dredged up. Then he heard a knock on his driver's side window.


	7. Battle Plans

[](http://laifere.deviantart.com/gallery/34602837#/d3lkwaw)  
Artwork by Laifere on DeviantArt.

Dave looked over to see Melodie smiling at him. He groaned inwardly. He knew that smile. He reached over and opened the door.

"You're going to prank me. What'll it be this time, Mel? Shave something embarrassing into my head again, tie-dye all my socks?" He climbed out and then reached across the seat to get his duffel bag. Melodie was still smirking like a cat that'd just went on a canary _binge._ It was creepy. She followed him up the walk, somehow managing to smirk and talk at the same time.

"Oh please, David. Don't you know me at all? Number one, I'm not some amateur that repeats pranks. Number two, contrary to what die-hard hippies, Wal-Mart's fashion consultants, and the people who plan high school spirit weeks believe, tie-dye is not making a comeback. In a perfect world, tie-dye will  _never_ make a comeback. I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy, much less my cousin."

Dave snorted. "God, you sound like Kurt."  _That_ pulled Melodie up short.

"Since when do you call him Kurt?" Dave could have smacked himself. It was that stupid phone conversation. He should have hung up as soon as he heard Kurt's voice. He tried to sound nonchalant when he responded.

"That's his name, right? The prissy kid who's all into fashion that you're in Glee Club with? Since when are you speaking to me again?"

"I'm not," she said blithely. And then she skipped ahead of him upstairs to her attic. She had just been hit by an impossible suspicion, and she needed to think.

Dave watched her go, suddenly nervous. Melodie never walked away from an opportunity to rib him. Her sudden amiability could only mean disaster later. Still, he guessed he would just enjoy the quiet as long as it would last, and keep his eye open for her to try anything. Instead of dropping his duffle bag in the hall closet like he usually would, he carried it upstairs with him and tossed it at the foot of his bed before locking himself in his room. He wouldn't put it past her to put itching powder in all his workout sweats, or Krazy Glue in his football helmet. He shuddered at the thought.

* * *

Upstairs, Melodie was lying on her bed and staring at the crossbeams. She liked living in the attic. It was private, it was never too hot, and it made her feel kind of cozy and secreted away.  _Like the princess in the tower_ , she thought sardonically.  _God I'm such a dork._ She sat up and looked at her clock. It was almost six, which meant all the Glee kids should be home by now. She decided it was time to call Rachel and let her know she'd gotten home okay. Unfortunately, she didn't have a cell or her own line, but she did have a phone in her room. She was fairly certain she'd know if Dave or anyone else picked up the phone and tried to listen in. She picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello?" said a male voice. She smiled. She had met Rachel's dads, and she thought she had never seen a sweeter or happier couple, even as she was amazed that they were able to live openly and in relative peace in a town this small and backward.

"Hello Mr. Berry, this is Melodie Bloom. We met earlier today? I just wanted to call and apologize to Rachel. I left in a hurry and I wanted to let her know I got home alright."

"Good to hear from you again, Melodie! It  _is_ good to hear you made it home alright. We were a little worried when you stormed out of here so fast. Was it something Rachel said? I know she can be a bit enthusiastic and honest, but—"

"No, no, Mr. Berry. That wasn't it at all. It was just…other stuff. Can I talk to Rachel?"

"Certainly, I'll get her."

While she waited, Melodie thought through her plan again quickly. It wouldn't work unless the whole Glee Club got behind it, and she had the distinct feeling that Rachel was the lynchpin in making that happen. It also wouldn't work without some dramatic interpretation...since that seemed to be the fastest way to a Glee kid's heart. So far, no such opportunity had presented itself, but she was sure it would. She would just have to bide her time…

"Melodie?" Rachel's voice sounded a little high with stress.

"Hey Rachel. Sorry about that…I didn't mean to just run out. It just made me so mad! My own cousin, running around acting like a jerk. It's a wonder you guys even let me join the club!"

"Well, you're talented, Melodie. And we don't tend to judge people by their relatives. I for one think you're a great addition to the group."

"I'm glad you think so, Rachel. Now, what are we going to do about Dave and his friends? They can't just be allowed to keep treating all of us like this." There was silence for a moment, and when Rachel did speak, she sounded nervous.

"Um…what exactly did you have in mind?"

* * *

Another full week went by without incident, much to Dave's relief. The jocks weren't giving him crap about Melodie, Melodie wasn't giving him crap about the gleeks, and he had managed to avoid Kurt Hummel like the plague without seeming too conspicuous. If any of his friends thought it strange that he suddenly didn't seem interested in pushing the other boy around, they didn't say anything. He was hoping they just chalked it up to him being worried about his parents getting called in.

On Friday, though, it became clear that he had no such luck.

Azimio cornered him at his locker, a wicked grin on his face letting Dave know immediately that something was wrong. He stuffed his history book inside and slammed the locker shut, then turned to his friend.

"What, Az?" he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Dude, nothin'. No worries. I just figured out a way to keep parents out of the equation without having to forfeit all our favorite extracurricular activities."

"What?" He dropped his arms to his sides. This was going to be bad, he could feel it. Melodie was going to murder him in his sleep…he was pretty sure she could just wikiHow lock picking.

"Chill out, man. You don't even need to worry about it. In fact, the less you know the better. Just walk, and look cool." Dave didn't know what to do. He couldn't do anything, could he? And what's the worst that could happen? Melodie didn't know anything about how the jocks usually treated the gleeks, did she? None of the glee kids would want to talk bad about her cousin in front of her, probably. So she would think it was just an isolated incident of one jock being an asshole. Right? He hoped. He followed Azimio, plunging his hands in his jacket pockets and trying to look nonchalant. There was just one thing he had to know for sure.

"Hey, Az. Just tell me the guys won't do anything too bad, okay? No permanent damage." Az looked at him funny.

"Relax dude. We're not monsters…and a little slushie to the face never hurt anybody." He laughed, and Dave cringed. Yeah, Melodie was going to kill him.

* * *

She was putting her books in her locker, about to go to lunch, when it happened. She crammed the last book inside, shut her locker, and then something cold and burning and blue hit her in the face. She squinted her eyes shut instinctively against the cold and the stinging. She didn't squeal, or scream, she just stood there gasping. Arms held out and mouth open in shock. Her eyes were tearing up, attempting to wash out the burning dye from the slushie. She needed to get to a bathroom, or the gym showers..anywhere but dripping slushie in the hallway. But she couldn't see anything.

And then they were there, on either side of her. Someone took her right arm, gingerly, and someone else had her left hand, guiding her along the hallway carefully.

"It's okay, we'll get you cleaned up," said Kurt's low voice somewhere to her right.

She had been expecting this, had been waiting for it since Rachel had told her all about the usual tactics used to keep the Glee Club in its place. Still, she hadn't been prepared for how much it would  _hurt,_ physically and emotionally. She was shivering cold all of a sudden, and there was an uncomfortable seeping, sticky feeling running down her shirt and into the waistband of her jeans. Her eyes burned. The worst part, though, was the humiliation, the sudden feeling of being singled out and laughed at in public, and completely at random. Up until now, she hadn't known what it really meant to be a  _gleek._ Because she wasn't a gleek, she was just a girl who happened to be in Glee Club.

 _Well, I guess I can't say_ that  _anymore._ She had a strong suspicion that Dave had told his buddies to leave her alone thus far, either out of family solidarity or fear she'd tell his parents. Apparently, she was open season now, though. She tried not to let it bother her. It took her until Kurt and Mercedes were halfway through helping her get all the slushie out of her hair and clothes for it to stop. After all, this was all part of the plan. In the middle of rinsing her shirt in the sink, she turned to Mercedes and Kurt.

"Has this happened to any of you before?" Kurt snorted and Mercedes just nodded grimly.

"It's almost a rite of passage for being in the club," said Kurt bitterly.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure everyone's gotten a slushie but Santana and Brittany at this point…and they're Cheerios, so I guess that's why. We even slushied Mr. Shue once just as a joke…we gave him warning first, though."

Melodie had to smile at that. She could just see the charismatic teacher taking a slushie in a show of solidarity. But then she frowned again.

"So, how come nobody's put a stop to it?" Kurt and Mercedes just looked confused.

"How would we put a stop to it? They're the jocks, and we're just the losers in Glee Club."

Melodie found herself getting angry.

"Are you serious? Have you told Principal Figgins that this happens all the time?"

Kurt and Mercedes both looked uncomfortable. Had it never occurred to them, or were they just too scared of the jocks? Melodie didn't ask; she was pretty sure she knew what the answer would be.

"I can't believe this." She turned back to her shirt in disgust. She was never going to get the blue dye out of it. At least the shirt was grey...hmmm…maybe she didn't want to get the dye out. She wrung the shirt out and moved over to the hand dryer.

"Wait, Mel…best to let it air-dry, if you apply heat the stain will set—"

Melodie rounded on Kurt.

"I know. I want proof. If nothing else, I'm not going to let those jocks get away with this and act like nothing ever happened. I mean, seriously, you guys? How long has this been going on? How long have you been coming in here, being late to class, so you can clean up the evidence for those jerks? Did it ever even  _occur_ to you to fight back?"

Kurt looked hurt, but Mercedes looked angry now.

"What, you get one slushie to the face and you think you know what it's like to be in Glee Club at this school? Have you ever gotten dumpster dropped, or locker checked? It took them weeks to slushie you in the first place, probably because of your stupid cousin—where are you going?"

Melodie had pulled her still-damp shirt over her head and was headed for the door. She answered without turning around.

"I'm going to the choir room. Get everybody together and meet me there. We need to talk."

* * *

Santana was the last to arrive, and she took in the scene in front of her with her signature smirk in place.  _Looks like the new girl took one to the face. Good for her._ She sat in her customary seat and crossed her legs, looking expectant.

Melodie faced her fellow Glee members, her hair drying untidily and her shirt still damp and bearing the blue stains of a slushy. Her eyes were red and probably still burned. She would have been a pathetic sight—a sight they'd all seen in the mirror one too many times—if not for the fierce expression on her face. She glared at each one of them, anger and disappointment fighting for dominance in her expression.

"Up until about noon today, I was really glad to be a part of Glee Club. You guys are some of the nicest people I've met. Even you, Santana. I didn't expect to have any friends in this stupid town when I moved here, and you guys just took me in, even though my cousin is a jerkoff asshole that's gone out of his way to make your lives hell. You didn't even tell me that…you just accepted me. And until today, I was glad."

"But now I'm disgusted. I had no idea I had associated myself with such a bunch of losers." Kurt and Mercedes flinched, Rachel looked hurt, but it was Finn that looked indignant and angry.

"Hey! That's going just a little too far. We're not losers. And I didn't think you were the type to care about that, anyway." She raised an eyebrow at Finn.

"Oh, make no mistake. I could care less what the stupid jocks on the hockey and football teams think about you guys. Dave told me you guys were the bottom of the totem pole the day I told him I'd joined the club. What he  _didn't_ tell me was that you're all a bunch of pathetic cowards." Finn looked ready to cut her off again, but she didn't give him the chance.

"These guys slushie you, throw you in dumpsters, lock you in porta-potties, write on your faces, push you around, shove you into lockers, and you do what? Just take it in silence? Do you think that makes you noble, or something? The Glee martyrs? Have any of you ever tried to tell your teachers, or Principal Figgins?"

"It wouldn't do any good," said Kurt quietly. "If they don't see it happen, it's just our word against theirs that anything  _did_ happen."

"So? How about this? Did any of you ever think of  _fighting back_? Did it ever occur to you that you're not actually losers? I mean, who makes these rules? Was there a secret ballot in which you won the popular vote for lowest of the low, or something? I guess it was the same vote that made the jocks the kings of the school. Did you ever even  _think_ that the majority of the kids at this school don't even  _care_? That they're just staying quietly out of the way, glad it's not them getting slushied? Have any of you ever been singled out by someone who wasn't a jock or a Cheerio?"

This speech was met with utter silence. Shock was on the faces of every member of the Glee Club. They just stared at her. Finn's mouth was even open a little. She continued, a little calmer now.

"Don't you guys get it? They do this because they  _can,_ because you let them get away with it. There are five guys in this room that are  _on_ the football team! Brittany, Santana, and Quinn are Cheerios. You guys don't have to take this crap! They decided you were losers, and you confirmed it by never fighting back. What, do you think if every one of us stands up to them, pushes back, the rest of the school is going to fall into line behind  _them_  and defend this fucked-up social order? What are you so afraid of?"

Something was dawning on the faces of a few of the members. It was tentative, but it was there. They were hearing her, and they knew she was right. Before she could elaborate any further, Kurt raised a prim finger to call her attention.

"Okay, so you're insane, but I like the way you think. Now, how exactly would you recommend we go about this fighting back business?"

A catlike smile spread slowly across Melodie's face.

"Well, first thing's first…where can a girl buy a slushie in this town?"


	8. Secrets

Dave was starting to get antsy. Melodie had been back to her usual self on the car ride home, even subjecting him to her singing again. But he could see that her hair was messy, as if it had air-dried, and her shirt was stained with the evidence of the blue slushie. He tried not to let it bother him. She was his cousin, but it wasn't as if they had ever been  _friends._ Why should he care if the guys gave her a little crap about being in Glee Club? It didn't bother him when they did it to Kurt… _stop that train of thought right there._

Kurt didn't mean anything to him. He kept telling himself that, anyway.  _Even if he did, he wouldn't care…I've only spent the last two years of school making his life miserable._ He thought back to the day he and Azimio had cornered Kurt in the hall last year. The day was over, the halls were empty. All his friends were probably singing show tunes in Glee Club. He was all alone, wearing the most ridiculous getup Dave had ever seen, and he was obviously terrified. There were tears in his eyes. But he looked at Dave and Azimio and he told them to go ahead and pummel him.

"I swear to you I will never change. I'm proud to be different. It's the best thing about me."

Dave had been unable to admit to himself, then, why Kurt's proud defiance made him so angry. He was only barely able to skirt around the edges of the true reasons now. But he hadn't been able to deny the nature of what he'd felt when Finn Hudson had shown up, wearing a bright red getup even more freakish than Kurt's and surrounded by the rest of the Glee Club in their Lady Gaga outfits. Kurt's face had gone from terrified to flabbergasted, then just purely awed. Grateful. The hero-worship on his face when he looked at Hudson had made Dave's stomach clench, and he wasn't able to deny that it was with jealousy. Kurt would never look at him that way.

He shook his head, annoyed with himself. The one good thing that had come out of Melodie living in his house was that he was so busy looking out for pranks that it had been awhile since he'd been able to brood about Kurt Hummel. Apparently her effectiveness as a vaccine against his being…well, apparently it was wearing off. He glanced warily at Melodie. She was still singing, but he thought he'd caught her watching him out of the corner of her eye as well. She was really making him nervous.

* * *

Melodie smirked around the words of the song she was singing when Dave caught her watching him. The first phase of her plan was underway already. She could tell she was making Dave really uncomfortable with her nonchalant attitude about the slushie. And she could tell he knew about it, because he'd paled when he'd seen her ruined shirt, but he'd said nothing. Now for phase two. She stopped singing. Dave looked at her, nervous but also relieved.

"Finally. Don't you sing enough in Glee Club?" Melodie shrugged.

"Rachel gets most of the solos. I'm really new, so I mostly just harmonize in the background. Anyway, I didn't really feel like singing after…"

"After what?"

"Nothing. Just some idiot threw a slushie at me. Kurt and Mercedes helped me clean up, it's no big deal." She noted, with satisfaction, the minute defensive narrowing of Dave's eyes when she said Kurt's name. There was something there, definitely. She just had to find out what it was. She plunged ahead.

"Kurt's really nice. And cute. It's too bad he's so very gay." Dave clenched his fists on the steering wheel and said nothing.

"I mean, you knew he was gay, right?  _Really_ gay. It's so obvious." Nothing from Dave. Melodie worked to make her tone sound worried.

"Um…you did know, right? I didn't think it was a secret or anything. Oh God, don't tell anyone if it is! I thought he was out, though I guess in a town like this it makes sense if he's not—"

"God, Melodie, just shut up! Yeah, everybody knows that Hummel's a fag! Why do you think he gets so much more crap than the other losers in that stupid club?" Melodie's eyes widened.

"David Karofsky, you take that back. Don't you dare  _ever_ call one of my friends that again. Do you even know what that  _means_?" Dave shrugged.

"Means he likes to do guys. I'm not stupid." Melodie rolled her eyes and smacked him—just a little too hard to be teasing or friendly—on the arm.

"You idiot. It's not a synonym for "gay." It's really offensive. Historically, it carries connotations of fear, intimidation, and violence. It's dehumanizing. I can't  _believe_ I'm related to someone who uses that word!" Now Dave looked uncomfortable, but he just snapped at her.

"Fine. I won't say it anymore. God, you're annoying."

Melodie smiled, satisfied. She would definitely bring up Kurt more often…Dave's face just gave away too much.

When they got home, Dave went straight inside and up to his room, slamming the door behind him and locking it, throwing himself face-down onto his bed. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. In a matter of minutes, Melodie had gone from a worrisome distraction that nevertheless got his mind off the infuriatingly desirable Kurt Hummel, to one more source of thoughts about aforementioned desirable boy. It was almost as if she were tormenting him on purpose…Dave froze.

_Is she doing this on purpose? Does she know? But…how could she know? Nobody knows, and Kurt wouldn't tell her, would he?_

No, he was sure Kurt hadn't told anyone. He hadn't even looked in Dave's direction since that day...

* * *

**That Day, just after The Kiss**

Kurt sagged against the lockers, sliding down to sit on the cold floor. His lips were still pulsing with the pressure of Dave's sudden kiss. His heart was racing, his eyes felt hot and dry, but his face felt cold. His hands felt cold. He leaned his head, which was suddenly pounding, against the cool metal of the lockers. There were no emotions for what he had just experienced…only temperatures. He felt positively frozen.

Eventually, it occurred to him that he didn't want to be found in the locker room by any of the football players. Even Finn…Finn wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, but he could be perceptive about people's feelings, and Kurt knew it would be just his luck for Finn to find him now and be in one of those rare empathetic moods. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered into the hallway, not really thinking about where he was going, just seeking a way out of the hallways decked in the school colors…he thought if he lived the rest of his life without seeing that hideous red color, it wouldn't be long enough. He flinched as he banged into the double doors, one hand still holding onto his mouth, the other wrapped around his chest, and pushed through them, stumbling outside and in the general direction of the parking lot.

At supper that night, he didn't eat much. He knew Carol and his dad noticed, but they didn't say anything. They waited until Finn had excused himself and left for Rachel's before they cornered Kurt on his way down to his room.

"Hey, Kurt. Wait up a second. Come talk to us."

He stopped, one foot on the stairway down to his room, and took a deep breath. Then he turned to them with a showman's smile plastered onto his face.

"Dad? Carol? What is it?"

Carol reached out and drew an arm around him, and his smile faltered for just a second. Carol was just so…so motherly.

"Honey, you haven't said a word since you got home from school. Is everything alright?" And her eyes were so worried, her voice was so kind…she was warm and good through and through, so ready to be his mother and accept everything about him, so good at making his dad happy…it made him want to sob onto her shoulder, to tell her how he'd never kissed a boy before today, and how his first kiss had been stolen away by a terrifying hulk of a bully-Neanderthal, and how the worst part was how he couldn't stop  _thinking_ about it, analyzing it is his head over and over, trying to morph it into something other than the twisted reality it was.

But his dad was standing just behind her shoulder, looking intently and worriedly at Kurt. His father, who had so recently suffered a heart attack, who he'd almost lost. He couldn't worry him, and he couldn't tell Carol without worrying him. Kurt looked into her eyes and shrugged, hating himself for the lie he was about to tell her, even if it was the best thing for everyone.

"It's nothing. I'm just tired today…I think I'll have a nice soak before bed." Carol nodded and released him, but the worried crease between her brows didn't disappear. She turned to look at Burt. It was there between his eyes, too. Kurt wasn't telling them something.

* * *

The weekend passed quietly for all concerned. Melodie didn't pull any pranks, which was starting to drive Dave insane. She was so  _nice_ to him, which just confirmed to him that she was up to something truly diabolical. Between the suspense and her sudden and obnoxious habit of mentioning Kurt every other time she opened her mouth, he felt like he was in a permanent state of mental siege. It made him irritable. So when it was Monday and he could look forward to an entire day spent mostly out of her company, he was so glad he was almost whistling on his way to his locker. Then Azimio approached him with a slushie in each hand, and Dave groaned inwardly.

"Yo, I got you something. Who're we gonna get this morning? And don't give me crap about your cousin. She got one in the face on Friday, right?" Dave sighed quietly, but nodded.

"And she didn't say anything to anybody about it, right?" Again, a nod from Dave.

"Then we're cool," concluded Azimio. "You're back on slushie duty, bro!" He clapped Dave on the back in a congratulatory way, and Dave wondered if Azimio would talk to him or be so familiar with him, or walk so close to him, if he knew that Dave was gay.  _Gay._ The thought startled him so much that he stopped dead in the hallway. It took Azimio a few steps to realize his friend had fallen behind, and he turned back in confusion.

"Dave?" Nothing. "Dave? Man, where'd you go?"

Dave snapped out of it, and looked at his friend, bemused.

"Uh…sorry, man. I just realized I forgot something at home."

"Damn. I hate that feeling." Azimio shrugged it off. "Oh well, nothing kills your frustrations like throwing slushies at gleeks, right?" His grin wasn't malicious, despite his motives. He actually had fun, didn't see any harm in it. Dave wondered, with a sick twist in his stomach, whether Azimio even saw the kids in Glee Club as human beings. But he just shrugged and grinned weakly. He had just managed to think, without even a mental stutter, of himself as gay. He had admitted it to himself. That didn't mean he was ready to admit it to everyone else, join the Light Side, and become a victim of the daily slushie facial himself in a show of gay solidarity. He just wasn't there yet. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten  _here,_ to this sudden place of honesty with himself. Reluctantly, he followed Azimio down the hall, toward where he knew several of the gleeks would be getting books out of their lockers.

As he and Azimio rounded the corner, they were both pulled up short by a cascade of something blue, purple, red, green…and fucking  _cold._

* * *

"God, it burns!" Dave felt this had to be the third time he'd heard Azimio make the complaint, and it was starting to grate on his nerves. It wasn't that the slushie  _didn't_ burn…it hurt like hell, he felt like his eyes were never going to stop watering at the same time as he felt like they were on fire. He also didn't particularly enjoy the sticky feeling down his chest, or how cold he was…and of course, his t-shirt and his letterman jacket and a good bit of his jeans were now covered in a myriad of colors. Then, too, he was burning with humiliation at being made a public spectacle.

The difference was, he felt like he deserved it. And as he attempted to rinse his eyes under the spray of the locker room shower for the sixth time, he swore he would never slushie another kid as long as he lived. It was terrible. He'd thought it was harmless and hilarious at one point, and now he knew better. It fucking sucked. And he had done it to Kurt and his friends how many times? He cringed, and it wasn't from the burning in his eyes.

Another aspect of his acceptance, of course, was the fact that he felt really,  _really_ stupid for not seeing this coming. He should have known when Melodie was so nice and bubbly all weekend. His mother had contributed it to her excellent parenting skills or something equally stupid, and Dave had just hoped Melodie was getting all glowy and happy because of Glee or something.  _God, I'm an idiot. People don't change overnight. I should have been suspicious the second she didn't go screaming to the principal about bullying and injustice._

Still, he was a little annoyed that she'd picked him out to slushie. He hadn't had anything to do with her getting doused, and had even tried to prevent it. As soon as he had  _that_ thought, he put it aside. He did deserve this. Penance for his torment of Kurt.

As if his thoughts had summoned the boy, Dave heard the locker room door creak open, and then he heard Kurt's voice, and froze.

"Azimio? Karofsky?" He sounded nervous, and rightly so. Dave couldn't see anything but a blur, but he turned toward the boy anyway.

"I'm sorry they did this to you," he said hesitantly. "Um, my friends, I mean. I think they were trying to make a point, though. A valid one. Now you know how it feels."

Azimio growled at him.

"Get outta here, ladyboy. If I weren't half-blind right now I would stomp your ass." Dave flinched at this, but didn't contradict his friend. He could hear Kurt shift nervously, and when he spoke, his voice sounded farther away. He was edging toward the door.

"Right…fine. Just…as a suggestion? Cold club soda will get the stains out better than laundry detergent. I would know." Dave thought he heard a bitter smile in Kurt's voice. Azimio just grunted at this and went back to trying to rinse his eyes, but Dave got up and advanced slowly toward Kurt. Walking was difficult when everything was blurry. He heard the boy making a hasty retreat, and he sped up. Kurt was out the door before Dave caught him by the strap of his messenger bag.

"Hummel, wait."

Something in his tone, or the fact that he'd grabbed his bag, or maybe just the fact that he looked less threatening when covered in slushie debris, made Kurt stop and turn to look up at him. Dave blinked a little, and the water cleared from his vision. He could see a little better, but his eyes still burned. He bet he looked terrible, but the moment those eyes found his he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Um…thanks," he said awkwardly. "Thanks for the tip about club soda…and er…about keeping my secret." The indescribably-colored eyes (blue? Green? Grey? All three, shifting and blending into one another seamlessly) widened a bit, and Dave thought he detected a slight pink flush creep into Kurt's cheeks.

"It's not my secret to tell," he said crisply. "You'll tell people when you're ready." He turned to go again, but Dave wasn't finished. He reach out, semi-blindly, and was immediately mortified when he felt his hand close, not around Kurt's bag strap, or his sleeve, or his clothing-covered shoulder, but his bare, soft, small hand. Kurt spun around and jerked his hand away. But he didn't run.

"Look Karofsky—" Dave flinched at the use of his last name, and at Kurt's tone. "What happened, happened. I accept it, and I won't tell anyone about it for the sake of not outing you. But let's make this clear: I didn't want it. I didn't invite it, and I did  _not_ enjoy it in the least. Of all the ways to have my first kiss, that is absolutely not the way I would have—"

"Wait…what?" Dave was squinting down at Kurt, his expression appropriately horrified.

"That was your first kiss? I mean, it was my first…um, gay kiss…obviously, but I didn't think—"

"What, you thought that because I'm out and proud I must be a total make-out slut as well? Well, you thought wrong, Karofsky. Before you threw yourself at me in that locker room I had never kissed a boy before, and let me just say it was somewhat removed from the fairytale I'd built up in my head."

Dave didn't know what to say. He just wanted to die right there on the spot. The slushies, the dumpster drops, even the locker checking and the slurs, he could probably have made up for over enough time. Maybe not to the point Kurt would ever forgive him, but at least where he could forgive himself. But he had forcibly stolen beautiful, perfect, porcelain-faced, doe-eyed Kurt Hummel's first kiss?  _What the hell do I do with that?_ He thought miserably. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Kurt..." and his voice was so soft, so gentle and pained that Kurt's mouth actually dropped open. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…if I had known…I shouldn't have…you were just so…"

"So what?" Kurt said, so sharply that Dave missed the honest curiosity in the question. Dave looked down at his feet and mumbled something before he turned and stepped back into the locker room, to greet a suspicious and confused Azimio.

"What the hell was that about, man?"

"Nothing, Az. Just…um, putting the fairy back in his place." He cringed at his own words, but Azimio didn't seem to notice anything off, as busy as he was still trying to get his eyes to stop burning and his clothes to stop being multicolored. He shot Dave a slightly sadistic grin and chuckled his approval.

"Man, nothing stops you."

"Yeah…I guess not," agreed Dave weakly.

Outside in the deserted hallway, Kurt just stood frozen to the spot for a moment. Then, he turned sharply on his heel and practically ran to the class he would be ten minutes late for, trying to leave the word Dave had uttered behind him, trying to leave it on the ground like the slushie-tinted water that had been dripping onto the floor from Dave's clothes and face and curling hair.

_Beautiful._


	9. Overheard

He couldn't believe—simply  _could not believe—_ that he had said that to Kurt in the hallway. He didn't know whether to be proud of himself, ashamed of himself, pissed off, terrified, or some other emotion that would fit better than all four. The truth was, he  _was_ all four. He was proud of himself for trying to make nice with Kurt, and even a little bit for telling him he thought he was beautiful. He was ashamed of himself because he couldn't just stand up to Azimio and stop trying to keep the approval of the football jocks and puckheads at the expense of his own integrity. He was pissed off with himself that he'd let something like that out, made himself so vulnerable, in front of Hummel. And he was terrified—no, completely  _petrified—_ with fear at the thought of Kurt walking around knowing that Dave was gay, and that he found him beautiful.

It was really getting hard to sleep at night, to be honest. And his absolute certainty that his million-times-damned cousin was most definitely up to something bigger than a slushie war wasn't helping at all.

* * *

Kurt had never felt so confused. Okay, maybe when he was trying to get his dad to pay more attention to him by trying to act straight and butch. That had been confusing, and he had been out of his element, and looking back on it made him cringe—flannel  _and_ Mellencamp…well, no one could accuse him of doing things halfway—but  _this._ This was ridiculous. He was a diva, wasn't he? He was the most driven, most talented, most fashionable person he knew, wasn't he? That's what he kept telling himself. He was Kurt Hummel, for crying out loud.

So why was he unable to puzzle out why Dave Karofsky's face kept popping into his head?

Kurt held no illusions about himself; despite all of his melodrama and his occasional propensity towards bitchy, demanding behavior, he actually saw himself quite clearly. He  _knew_ he was melodramatic, and also a hopeless romantic. He knew he was beautiful, even if it was a soft, feminine kind of beauty that was more likely to attract girls with mother complexes than men with—well, anything he was looking for. But to have Karofsky, of  _all_ people, tell him he was beautiful? It just floored him. He couldn't wrap his mind around it, and the worst part was that the mystery it presented, the essential and unavoidable  _wrongness_ of the whole situation…it intrigued him. It spoke to the Kurt underneath the diva, the glossy-eyed, painfully and awkwardly honest, sincere Kurt that had confessed his feelings to Finn once in the auditorium.

 _I honestly love you,_ he'd said without meaning to. Without thinking…he'd been alone, without witnesses and without anyone else diverting Finn's attention from him, and although the taller boy was undoubtedly dumb as a rock, there was something sunshiny and sweet and just  _good_ in his face that drew Kurt in irresistibly. And he'd just come right out and said it.

Luckily, Finn had thought Kurt was naming a song, or had graciously pretended to think so.  _I mean, really, how dense can a person be? He doesn't seem nearly that bad at home._ Kurt had a sneaking suspicion, actually, that a lot of Finn's cluelessness was a put-on that he kept in place for school so he wouldn't have to deal too much with the feelings of the people around him. He wondered idly if Karofsky put on the same kind of mask before he came into school—except instead of pretending not to notice others' feelings, he pretended not to care, to enjoy trampling them, just to keep himself from getting trampled on.

Sighing, Kurt looked at his watch.  _Great. That was a full five minutes I spent_ not  _thinking about Dave Karofsky. What in the name of all that is good and Prada is wrong with me tonight?_

But he knew what it was, although he tried hard not to look at it too closely or give it too much weight in his head. Kurt  _knew_ he was beautiful, and he knew he was talented, but that didn't mean that getting pushed around and treated like trash all the time didn't take its toll on his sense of self-worth, and it didn't mean he didn't find it incredibly affirming just to hear someone else voice those opinions of him every once in awhile. And to hear them come from  _that_ voice…deeper than his own would probably ever be, man-like already, and so sincere while still so furtive and embarrassed. His cheeks had gone so  _red_ when he'd said it—

_Ack! Stop it, Kurt, right this instant. Stop thinking about him right now!_

He rolled over on his back and tried to obey his own thoughts, but to no avail. This was wrong, utterly and completely  _wrong._ Dave Karofsky had bullied him, terrified him, practically assaulted him and stolen his first real kiss away without so much as a by-your-leave. A part of him hated Karofsky for that, but another part of him was still turning the boy's words from earlier in the day over and over in his mind. He knew it probably made him the most twisted attention whore in the history of humankind, but he felt a slow smile spreading across his face.

Somewhere out in this world, someone thought he was beautiful.

* * *

Melodie was up in her attic room again, but this time she was practically ready to explode with excitement. She paced up and down so briskly that she heard Dave yelling up at her to stop the stampede already. She didn't even spare a smirk in his general direction, she was so wired.

She had heard the whole damn thing.

After they'd slushied the two jocks in the hallway, the gleeks had beaten a quick retreat to the choir room, mostly to look innocent while secretly congratulating each other on their own relatively safe turf. But then, halfway to the choir room, Melodie noticed that Kurt wasn't with them. Worried—what if some of the other jocks had decided to single him out for revenge?—she turned back, and she was ecstatic that she had. Approaching the hall where the locker rooms were situated, Melodie had slowed down when she'd heard voices. One high, clear, and prim—Kurt, of course—and one gruff, lowered secretively, but she knew it anyway. It was Dave.

Curious, and feeling like she just might finally find out what was going on with Dave's intense bullying of Kurt, she had paused, just around the corner, just out of sight. Just in time to hear everything she'd needed to.

"—won't tell anyone about it for the sake of not outing you." Melodie's eyes popped as wide as they were able. Was Kurt talking to  _Dave_  about being gay? "But let's make this clear; I didn't want it. I didn't invite it, and I did  _not_ enjoy it in the least." Melodie felt herself getting a little nauseous. Had Dave done something to Kurt? Surely not…he was a huge jerk, but he wasn't— "Of all the ways to have my first kiss," Melodie slowly and quietly let out a  _huge_ sigh of relief, "that is absolutely not the way I would have—"

"Wait…what? That was your first kiss?" Melodie rolled her eyes at the mortified expression she could just imagine on David's face. Didn't he know it wouldn't matter that much in either direction? With the way he'd been treating Kurt, it  _not_ having been his first kiss wouldn't have made it any better. But the fact that it was just made it so much worse. She listened intently, eyes so wide it was almost painful, as Dave confessed to having his first gay kiss with Kurt, and Kurt let him have it in a way that made Melodie a tiny bit proud. He was finally standing up for himself a bit. Then Dave surprised her.

"Kurt…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…if I had known…I shouldn't have…you were just so…"

"What?" came Kurt's reply, and although it was lost upon Dave's defeated ears, Melodie's were perked to their maximum potential, and she caught the curiosity ringing under the exasperation, and wondered at it.

"Beautiful," mumbled Dave, and then she heard the creak of a door. Quietly, she tiptoed backwards as fast as she could and slipped into the girls' restroom about halfway down the hall. Just in time, too, because a mere matter of seconds later, she heard Kurt walking toward her hiding place.

Now, alone in her attic room, she stopped pacing and threw herself backwards onto her bed, running the scene over and over in her mind. She could hardly believe the whole thing had happened. Had her big homophobic jerk of a cousin  _really_ confessed to kissing Kurt Hummel?  _Huh…I guess the more I think about it, the more it makes some sense,_ she thought grudgingly.  _I mean, he gave Kurt a harder time than anyone. And then he kissed him. If Kurt had pigtails, David would be the stupid little boy pulling them on the playground._ She rolled her eyes at the notion. Still…this presented such an opportunity. The prank of a lifetime! Dave would never see it coming. Hell, if she played her cards right, he would never even know he had been pranked. Admittedly, it lacked the bite of all her previous shenanigans, but the fact that she might rid the world of a closet-case homophobe in the process more than made up for that.

Melodie jumped off her bed and resumed her frantic pacing, her face set in lines of excited determination.  _Before I leave this little town,_ she promised herself silently,  _my big jerk of a cousin will be dating Kurt Elizabeth Hummel._


	10. Past My Shades

Kurt had just managed to fit the last of his books into his locker when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he took in the sight of Melodie in her latest getup: a simple pair of jeans with a large patch on the knee, the inevitable lime green sneakers, the devil-pixie pigtail buns again, the equally inevitable yellow sunglasses, and a patchwork tunic top made of t-shirt scraps from every Broadway musical he'd ever loved.

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He raised an eyebrow.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that shirt was a blatant attempt to put me in a good mood." Much as he adored Melodie's quirky fashion sense and equally weird personality, he had forced himself to be more cautious about how friendly he got with her ever since his personal revelation that getting to close to her might put him at a greater proximity to Dave Karofsky. The big-eyed, pouty stare she gave him now made him feel like a grub for it, too.

"What? Isn't my mere presence enough? I thought we were becoming friends, Kurt." He sighed, shut his locker, and turned to face her.

"Look, Melodie. You are without a doubt one of the most interesting people I know. I think…I mean, as far as I know. But you're also Dave Karofsky's cousin, and by now I'm sure you've figured out that Karofsky and I…well, we're not on the best of terms, to say the least. It's really better for all concerned if I avoid him as much as possible, and the more I become friends with you, the more chances I'll end up being around him. I just can't have that kind of poison in my life." He cringed mentally as he quoted his father's words to Finn months earlier. Finn had changed, though. The only thing that had changed about Karofsky was that now Kurt knew he was a liar and a hypocrite in addition to being a bully.

Melodie eyed him knowingly, but played dumb.

"Okay, my cousin is a big dumb freak. I get it. But not so long ago, a certain starlet we all know and love told me nobody was going to judge me based on my relatives. Now here you are telling me we can't be friends because of Dave, even though I'm like 90% sure you and Mercedes are my soulmates? How is that fair?" Kurt raised an eyebrow at her, fighting a grin.

"Soulmates? Hmmm…well, I guess I can't argue with that logic." He turned and started heading toward the door to the parking lot, and Melodie followed.

"But Melodie, let's get one thing straight: I am not going to be around your cousin."

"No, Kurt…that's not how it works," she said. There was no malice behind the words, no excitement. She stated it as a fact, plain and simple. He turned to look at her as he walked, and could see that her pointy little chin was set. Stubborn-face.

"Look, I know Dave's been a total asshole. Believe me, I've had  _years_ of experience with what a jerk he can be. But…there's other stuff about him too, okay?" Kurt snorted derisively.

"Like what?"

"Like…you just don't have him completely figured out, alright? You think you've got him pegged. He's a big dumb jock who plays first-person shooters and eats meat lovers' pizza and watches  _Die Hard_ four times a week, and only listens to wannabe-metal bands and 80s rock, and probably has a collection of porno magazines under his bed right next to a box of Kleenex. He plays sports, he knows nothing about art or music, and he thinks being a man means being the biggest, meanest, and loudest motherfucker around."

"Um...yeah, that sounds about right, actually," said Kurt, wondering where she was going with this as they stepped outside. Melodie rounded on him, stopping him in his tracks with a glare.

"But that's not Dave at  _all._ He hates first-person shooters. I'm pretty sure the only video games he plays are the original Super Mario Brothers; he can even play the theme song. Oh yeah, and he plays the guitar, although he won't let anyone hear him. I know he has one, and when he's upset he locks himself in his room and plays it as quietly as he can so we won't listen in. He likes pineapple pizza, and his favorite movie is probably the original  _Star Wars,_ and I've never heard him willingly listen to anything more hardcore than Michael Bublé unless one of his boneheaded friends was around."

Kurt just stared at her, a little wide-eyed.

"You forgot to counter the porno mags," he said weakly. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh please. His door's always locked. I could pick the lock, sure, but that's a whole lot of effort just to see a lot of naked girls." She had to work hard not to laugh at the expression on Kurt's face. It was so very clear what he was thinking.

_Girls…if he has pictures of naked girls under his bed, it's probably a cover._

"So, are you willing to be my friend even if I don't go out of my way to keep Dave away from you, or not?" Kurt looked at her expectant face, deciding. What she was asking was a bit unfair, and a terrible idea for every possible reason—and probably a few he hadn't thought of yet—but at the same time, it was an awful lot for him of ask of her as well, pulling her in different directions like this. Even if the direction Karofsky was in was clearly the Dark Side. He completely skipped over the fact that he found the idea of seeing Karofsky outside of school and away from his jock-persona a little intriguing, but it was there. He sighed.

"Fine. I'm not going to ask you to go out of your way. But I would like it very much if you would give me a little warning whenever your cousin is going to be around, and don't expect me to be nice to him, or even civil. I seriously doubt he'll take the trouble to be very nice to  _me._ " Melodie grinned at him evilly, and for a second she was very like Kurt's worst nightmares of her cousin.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that…"

* * *

Dave couldn't for the life of him figure out what he was doing here, or how he had ended up here in the first place.

 _Oh, right,_ he thought bitterly,  _I'm here because fifteen years ago my dad's sister and her husband accidentally birthed the spawn of Satan._

He glanced dolefully over to the food court, where Melodie sat laughing with Kurt and Mercedes. She had wanted to go to the mall with them after school, but instead of just getting a ride with Kurt or the other girl, she had flat insisted that Dave drive her, because she wanted to be able to leave well before Kurt's shopping addiction would have been temporarily sated. Of course, the fact that she didn't have a cell phone meant that she would need him to stay until she was ready to go.

So now he was tagging along on a group outing with Kurt Hummel and his friends at the mall, skulking at the Starbucks kiosk and watching them like some creepy stalker.  _God, I'm pathetic._

He grabbed his coffee from the bar when it came up—black, no sugar—and approached their table cautiously, expecting an instant rebuff. Kurt and Mercedes knew he was with Melodie, he was sure, but they probably expected him to go do his own thing for the duration of the outing. Unfortunately, he had nothing to do, and just leaving wasn't an option. Besides, he wasn't about to pass up a perfectly airtight excuse to be around Kurt. Even if one of his football or hockey buddies saw him, he'd have the perfect explanation, and they probably wouldn't start anything, except maybe to rib him a little for being turned into a babysitter.

To his surprise, and then intense disappointment, there was no change when he reached the table and sat down next to Melodie. It wasn't as if anyone had gotten less comfortable, or as if he'd been seamlessly included into the group…it was like he didn't exist at all. Melodie didn't acknowledge his presence. She was angled away from him, talking animatedly to Kurt, and Mercedes was turned in her chair toward the two of them. Dave drew his shoulders in defensively and stared down at his coffee, his brows furrowed. This was going to be a long evening.

And yet, it surprisingly wasn't. The three friends didn't stop ignoring him, true, but after awhile Dave started taking advantage of the situation; here was an opportunity to see Kurt, to look openly at him where no one would notice or care, and Dave wasn't about to waste it. So he started to watch.

The more he watched, the more he thought he might never be able to look away.

Kurt was…beautiful, there really was no other word for it. Lithe. Pale and graceful, almost glowing. Everything about him seemed perfect, from his round, innocent eyes to the little dimple in his chin, to the slender lines and masculine planes of his body, to the perfect way his hair swept over his brow. Every time he moved, Kurt seemed to catch the light and throw it back, but brighter. It almost  _hurt_ to look at him. But that wasn't all.

Kurt was  _goofy._ Around his friends—Dave's own unwelcome presence notwithstanding—and at his ease, the bitchy exterior melted away, and Dave saw a glimpse of the Kurt he'd kissed in the locker room again, only this time he wasn't angry or screaming or a second away from crying. He was happy, serene. And God, he was a total dork!

"Oooo, 'Cedes…tell me I don't look fierce in these," he said sassily, trying on a pair of frameless, pink-tinted sunglasses.  _Of course they would be pink,_ Dave thought, trying not to chuckle. Mercedes gave her friend a sideways glance and laughed out loud.

"Boy, you are out of your mind. Next thing I know you'll be telling me  _these_ are just my color." And she put on a pair of green-tinted sunglasses with little rhinestones around the top outside corners. Kurt laughed and rolled his eyes, then sighed and started to replace the sunglasses, but Melodie jumped in and stopped him.

"Oh, no, don't put 'em back just yet. After all, I have my signature tinted shades," she said playfully, gesturing toward her hideous yellow sunglasses. "My posse needs to be outfitted in kind." Kurt snorted.

"Posse? Do I get to rob banks and wear assless chaps?"

Suddenly, Dave was having to try very hard not to stare at Kurt's butt. He averted his gaze toward a display of semi-manly sunglasses, trying his best to suppress a smile. Kurt was a prissy dork, but it was so…endearing. It was positively cute. And the pink sunglasses were kind of sexy… _God,_ thought Dave,  _when did I suddenly become so_ okay  _with thinking of Kurt Hummel as sexy?_

Then came the moment that made the whole thing completely worth it.

Melodie turned to Dave and held out a pair of black, square-topped, almost retro sunglasses.

"Here, Dave, try these on. We're all going to get a pair!"

Dave was so taken aback by suddenly being included—he had almost started to think of himself as actually invisible to the other three, damn his sci-fi movies—that he didn't even protest, he just reached out and took the glasses, put them on, and looked in the little mirror on the side of the display rack. The glasses looked…good. If a little nerdy for his taste. But he liked them…he was so thrown off that he didn't even register how quiet the other two had gotten. Then…

"Oh Gaga, Melodie, sometimes I swear I think you must pay someone else to dress you. You have no fashion sense at all! Here, try these instead."

And Kurt Hummel was reaching up—he didn't actually have to reach that far, and Dave idly thought that Kurt must have grown recently, because wasn't he a lot shorter before?—and whipping the nerdy sunglasses from Dave's face, replacing them with a pair that were sleeker, more contemporary, with frames almost the same red as the color on his letterman jacket. Dave felt a jolt of electricity as Kurt's fingers brushed his skin in the process, and was glad for the dark tint of the glasses when he had to close his eyes as Kurt's shampoo, or cologne, or whatever that  _amazing_ scent was, hit him in the face.

He opened his eyes and looked at Kurt, just in time to see a contemplative mask settle over the shock in the smaller boy's eyes. Clearly, he had been just as surprised as Dave by his own actions. He quirked one eyebrow, placed his thumb and forefinger against his chin, and then cut his eyes towards Mercedes and the Melodie for their input.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/raisinwrites/pic/00010k3p/)

"Huh," said Mercedes, sounding a little thrown. "They look…kinda good." Dave looked in the mirror again, and he had to agree. Then Melodie burst into a fit of giggles.

"Oh my  _God,_ David! You look like a Power Ranger!"

The other two cracked up as well, and David started to scowl at her. He didn't like being laughed at. But then he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, and he cracked up. He  _did_ look like a Power Ranger. He shrugged.

"At least I can be the red one. He was the coolest anyway."

Kurt scoffed through his continuing bout of laughter.

"Oh please. Sure, Rocky was cute, but everyone knows Tommy was the coolest."

"I don't know about Rocky, I was thinking of Jason," Dave shot back good-naturedly.

And finally, it occurred to all four of them how weird this situation was. They all stopped laughing, and looked awkward for just a moment, before Kurt said incredulously:

"You know the names of the Power Rangers?" And his face was so comically shocked that Dave couldn't help it, he cracked up again.

 _Yeah,_ he thought, a mixture of happiness, bewilderment, and trepidation flowing through him and just fueling his laughter even more,  _I am definitely buying these sunglasses. I am so screwed._


	11. Project

"Alright class, this next project will be done in pairs—" excited rumblings interrupted the teacher's words, and she had to raise her voice to be heard over them, "pairs that  _I will assign._ " The excitement turned to groans. The teacher ignored them and flipped to her class roster for this period.

"Okay…Mercedes, you'll be with Rachel." Mercedes rolled her eyes, but it wasn't that bad…at least she knew Rachel would do her share, even if the other girl would probably take over the whole thing from beginning to end.

"Lauren Zizes, you'll be paired with Noah Puckerman." Puck looked incredulously at the heavyset girl across the room from him. She gave him a sneer that was truly frightening, and he turned away quickly. Badass he might be, but Lauren was on the wrestling team and she quite honestly  _scared_ him a little.

"Melodie…let's have you and Sam work together."

Melodie looked over at Sam Evans, who gave her a friendly, if somewhat sheepish, grin. She fought the urge to gag. Sam was nice enough, sure…too nice, in fact. Blonde, boring, bland. She seriously doubted whether the boy had any actual brains in his head. In fact, she'd often imagined that if she grabbed his head and shook it, she'd hear change rattling. The mental image made her smile widely, and she hoped he wouldn't interpret her mirth as eagerness.

_He's like…like a blonde version of Finn. Pretty, nice, a bit oblivious, leadership qualities diluted by his inability to think for himself and his desperation to be popular, a good male solo singing voice…yep, he's completely and utterly superfluous. Oh well, I guess now he's my superfluous English partner._

She turned back to the demented little cartoon she was doodling in her notebook—a freaky little mad scientist with bulging, bloodshot eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a creepy smile—and tried to think of topics she could handle mostly on her own. Sam Evans wasn't likely to be any help.

* * *

To her immense chagrin, Sam Evans found her at lunch.

"Hey, Melodie? Um, I thought we could talk about our English project?" She looked up at him, at a loss for words. Kurt and Mercedes were staring as well. Sure, Sam was in Glee Club with the two of them, but it wasn't like they hung out other than that. Kurt wasn't sure he'd ever even talked to Sam outside of Glee, apart from his attempts to sing a duet with him when he'd first joined.

"Um, sure," Melodie said uncertainly, motioning for the empty chair across from her. Sam sat down—he wasn't carrying anything but a water bottle, she noticed—and leaned forward a bit, looking animated.

"Okay, so we're supposed to examine a movie for its social messages, right? Well, I thought maybe we could do something with Avatar. The James Cameron movie, not the awful adaptation of the cartoon." Melodie stared at him, a little astonished.

"Um, that's an idea…I guess. But aren't the social messages in Avatar kind of…well…obvious and superficial? I mean, Mother Nature is good, technology is bad, modern humanity is callous, science and commercialism don't mix, and all that?"

"Well, yeah, we could always go with the obvious ones. But what about the stereotypical depiction of the natives? Or the way the film treats handicapped individuals? We could even argue that it's kind of an apologist statement about colonial treatment of native populations." Melodie dropped the tater tot she was holding. Kurt and Mercedes had stopped eating as well, and were staring at Sam as if he'd grown an extra head. He blushed under their combined gaze, and looked down.

"Hey, I'm pretty…but I'm not dumb," he said shyly. Melodie had to chuckle at that.  _Well, color me put into my place,_ she thought ruefully. She resumed eating her tots, hoping her two friends would have the good sense to stop gaping.

"Okay, Sam…that's a really good idea. I have a couple as well…do you think we could meet somewhere after school today and talk about it, maybe decide on one for sure?"

"Sure," he said amiably, and then stood. "I'm gonna go catch up on my weight lifting while I still have some lunch hour left. Um, wanna just hang around for a second after Glee Club, and we can go from there?" Melodie nodded, and he grinned, and then left.

No sooner had he gone than Kurt and Mercedes had erupted into a fit of giggles. She gave them an annoyed look.

"What exactly is so funny?" Kurt was the first to collect himself.

"Well…you're still a bit new, so you aren't used to Sam yet…but I swear I think that was the most I've heard him talk, and the smartest I've heard him sound, ever. Who knew there was a brain under all that pretty bottle-blonde hair?"

"He dyes his hair?" Melodie asked incredulously. "Is he in the closet?"

Kurt made a very un-Kurt-like snorting noise.

"Psh, I wish. I thought he was when he first moved here, because of the hair—good eye, by the way—but he's completely enamoured with Quinn Fabray. You know who Quinn is?"

"Of course…who could miss her?" Although she had never talked one-on-one with the head cheerio, the walking, talking Barbie doll  _was_ a bit hard not to notice. She always had a kind of intimidating smirk and unapproachable set to her shoulders that had prevented Melodie from speaking to her thus far. She wondered what a guy as friendly and smart as Sam was doing following a girl like that around, and then laughed internally.  _He probably wants to see if they have matching stamps on their backs that read "Mattel."_

* * *

"Okay," Melodie sighed, removing the heavy backpack from her shoulders and depositing it unceremoniously on a table. The public library stayed open until six on weekdays, so they had a couple of hours to figure out their project. Sam tossed his duffle bag into a corner and pulled out a chair for himself.

"Right, so you like the Avatar idea," she began, "and I don't think it's a bad idea, but I was thinking we could do something on the way gender is represented in the movie  _Final Destination."_ Sam wrinkled his nose.

"Seriously? That movie's like…a decade old. And it sucked."

"Well, yeah, it did. But the quality of the film itself isn't the point. It's the social message, remember? And there's definitely a lot of cross-gendering and re-gendering in that film, it would be a really interesting analysis." Sam looked unconvinced.

"Um, I don't really know that much about gender politics. I mean, my mom is really into feminism, but I'm a guy."

"So? A guy can be a feminist. It has nothing to do with what sex you are."

"Still…I don't really know anything about it. I'd have to learn a lot of stuff before we could even get started. Nìhawng nìtxan nìhawng si."

Melodie stared at him. She seemed to find herself doing that a lot lately.

"Um, what?" Suddenly, Sam looked sheepish again.

"Uh…Nìhawng nìtxan nìhawng si. It's…Na'vi. You know, the language from Avatar?" His face was a little red, and he wasn't quite looking at her. He seemed embarrassed, but she thought it was kind of…cool. Certainly unexpected. How did a pretty boy jock end up learning the language from Avatar?

"Wow. That's really cool. What does it mean?" Sam looked up, surprised, and then a slow smile spread across his face.

"It means 'too much to do,' I think. Something close to that."

"How did you learn Na'vi?"

"I've seen that movie a ton of times. It's my favorite…" he trailed off, looking embarrassed again.

"It's one of my favorites, too," Melodie said, enthusiastically but a little gently. Obviously, Sam wasn't used to talking to anyone about his nerdy obsession. "But I prefer Pocahontas…you know, the movie it ripped off shamelessly?"

And suddenly, they were talking easily, Sam defending his favorite film and Melodie countering. They talked about Avatar, and somehow they moved to Lord of the Rings. Feeling it was only fair, Melodie confessed that she had taken the time to learn to say a few things in elvish.

"I used to yell things at my parents when I was mad, or at kids at school. My favorite was…hang on, let me get it right…'llie n'vanima ar' lle atara lanneina.'"

Sam chuckled. "That sounds pretty. What does it mean?" Melodie fixed him with a mischievous eye.

"It means, 'you're ugly and your mother dresses you funny.'"

The blonde boy cracked up. Melodie joined in. She didn't remember the last time she'd had this much fun. Sure, Kurt and Mercedes were great, but she had just  _known,_ from the moment she'd met them, that neither of them would really get her nerdy obsessions. She hadn't had anyone to talk to about that kind of thing…well, ever. The pampered little princesses at her old private school had never seemed to talk about anything but romantic comedies and "artistic" films, whatever the hell that meant. Her roommate had whine incessantly every time she'd tried to watch one of her movies, especially the sci-fi and horror films. Dave was into Star Wars, but he wouldn't admit that to most people, so she couldn't talk to him. And now, suddenly, here was someone she could be a goofy nerd with! _Who would ever think that the perfect golden boy, Sam Evans, is a giant nerd like me underneath!_

* * *

Sam glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Oh man. It's like ten minutes till we have to be out of here," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "I guess the time just got away with us a little."

"Yeah," Melodie replied, smiling. Sam noticed she actually had a nice smile, when it was real. Usually she smirked, or just bared her teeth at people in a way that was more creepy than friendly. This one was different. With a start, he realized that Melodie Bloom was actually really pretty…and fun to talk to… _and she doesn't seem to mind that I'm secretly a dork._ He returned the smile easily, feeling more relaxed than he had since his first day at William McKinley.

"So, are we analyzing  _Avatar,_ or  _Final Destination_? Keeping in mind my lack of knowledge when it comes to gender."

"I guess we can do your idea," Melodie replied. "But I need to educate you. Everything is more fun when you start picking apart the gender play. At least, I think so. It drives my parents crazy when I do it. It serves them right, though, they're the ones who raised me to think for myself." Sam laughed at that.

"Okay.  _Avatar_ it is, then. Want to meet back here tomorrow after Glee to work on it a little?" Melodie frowned.

"Actually, I can't. I promised Kurt and Mercedes we'd go to the mall tomorrow after school."

"Shopping with Kurt and Mercedes? Good luck. Something tells me they'd be impossible to keep up with…unless you're a shopaholic in addition to being an elvish scholar?" he added teasingly. She reached over with the hand not shouldering her backpack and gave him a playful shove.

"Please. I can keep up with the most horrific of super-shoppers. Besides, I always make sure to have an escape route planned in case I see any "Giant Sale" signs."

Sam laughed again. It seemed he had done nothing but smile and laugh for the past two hours.

"The next day then," he said, and she nodded.

"Can do," she said.

 _Can't wait,_ Sam thought.


	12. Fancy

Dave sat on the edge of his bed, absentmindedly strumming at his guitar, the door shut and locked as usual even though nobody was home. Melodie was off studying with Sam Evans for some English project, and his parents had taken the rare opportunity to have a date night. He loved that his parents still did things like that, even though he would never have admitted it to anyone. It was just good to see two people stay together that long and still like being around each other…made him believe love really could last.

 _Gah…I have to stop hanging around girls and Kurt,_ he thought, exasperated. Although his room was his safe haven, and his guitar had been the background noise for his private thoughts for as long as he could remember, his thoughts had never been quite so…girly, there was really no other word for it.  _Romantic? Ugh…gah…think about football or something, geeze, Dave._

He forced his brain to focus on just the sound of the chords he was strumming, bringing the sounds from background noise to the forefront of his mind. Without meaning to, he realized he'd been strumming some weird rap song Azimio had been playing obsessively lately. He grinned as he recalled the words. It was perfect.

Playing louder than he ever would have dared do when someone else was home, he raised his voice and began to sing, a bit tunelessly, turning the somewhat obnoxious lyrics into something light and humorous. He rarely played actual songs that he'd heard on the radio, but when he did, he liked to make them his own.

[(click here to see the video that inspired me to include this song)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1hA8S1z9G8)

[ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1hA8S1z9G8)

_Oh, you're fancy, huh? Oh, you're fancy, huh? Oh you're fancy, huh, yeah…_

_You're getting ready, so I know we're gonna be here awhile, in the bathroom with flat irons and nail files, spending hours in salons on your crazy hairstyles, and in the mall, steady racking up the air miles._

He grinned, thinking of a certain countertenor and his almost compulsive shopping schedule.

_You hit the gym, step on the scales, and stare at the number. You say you're dropping ten pounds, preparing for summer. And you don't do it for the men because the men never notice._

_You just do it for yourself. Oh, you're the fucking coldest._

_Intelligent, too…oh, you're my sweetheart. I've always liked my men book-and-street-smart. Just as long as they've got a little class…like half days, and the confidence to overlook my past ways._

That particular line made him grimace a little, but he sang on past it. Kurt would probably never overlook the way Dave had treated him in the past. He was nice for Melodie's sake, but she would be gone eventually, and that would go with her. No matter how much fun they all seemed to have together…

_Time heals all, and heels hurt to walk in, but they go with the clutch that you carry your lip gloss in. And look, I really think that nobody does it better. I love the way you put it together—_

Dave stopped. He thought he'd heard a car door slam. Getting up and propping his guitar against the bed, he went to peek out his window, twitching the navy blue curtains aside. Sure enough, he saw Melodie climbing out of a car he assumed belonged to Sam Evans. Instead of coming inside right away, however, she leaned back in, propping her arms up on the passenger door's open window frame and laughing at something.  _Weird,_ he thought.  _What in the world is she laughing at?_ Sam had never struck Dave as particularly funny, to say nothing of being not very bright. Sure, he was pretty— _not that I really noticed that much,_ Dave thought quickly—but there was just nothing  _there._ Dave shrugged. Melodie was weird. He had almost given up trying to figure out what was going on in her diabolical, pointed little head since he'd started hanging out with her, Mercedes, and Kurt.

That thought made him smile and glance over at his dresser, where a pair of red-framed sunglasses was hung conspicuously from one of the drawer handles. Ever since that day, he had begun accompanying the goofy trio regularly, always under the guise of Melodie's cab driver, but always managing to end up a part of the group by the end of the evening. He wasn't a big shopper by any means, and in fact thought it was pointless as an activity, but he got to watch Kurt enjoying himself, and occasionally allowed himself to dream that he, Dave Karofsky, might actually be contributing to that enjoyment just a little bit—or at least not deterring the boy from it.

At school, it was a different story, of course. None of them but Melodie talked to Dave or approached him, and Dave certainly didn't attempt to approach them. And he didn't wear his sunglasses when all three of them showed up wearing theirs, but he earned a small smile from Kurt when the countertenor saw that Dave had discreetly hung his pair from one of his front jeans pockets. After that, Dave made a habit of it. He also didn't shove Kurt anymore, or join in on the slushie facials. He even tried to warn Melodie discreetly if the football players or puckheads were trolling for slushie victims. If anyone noticed anything odd about his behavior, they didn't say anything, chalking it up—he hoped—to his fear that his parents would find out if he did anything else to the gleeks. Dave occasionally thought he saw Azimio give him a funny look out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't be sure about that, and tried not to let it worry him.

The truth was, Dave was having the time of his life. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so light and stress-free. He went through his classes, did his homework, made his excuses to the jocks, and still kicked ass on the ice and field at every practice. He hung out with Kurt and Co. whenever he got the chance to do so, and got to be a looser, goofier Dave who owned up to his sci-fi obsession and his strange musical tastes: crooners and what he jokingly termed "acoustic boys"—those dime-a-dozen guys who ran around touring cheap venues with a guitar and a microphone, and not much else. His favorite was John Mayer, although he'd hit the mainstream years ago. Mayer had started out playing seedy little bars and coffee houses in Atlanta, and Dave thought it was cool that he could make a name for himself, and even cooler that he still returned to those same little bars every once in awhile to play for the people who'd launched his career.

 _Of course, every other day there's a new rumor about what guys he's fucking,_ Dave thought ruefully. But if he were John Mayer, he doubt he'd care about that kind of thing quite as much. At least, he hoped not. For now, he was still closet-case Karofsky.  _Heh…it has possibilities as a nickname, I guess._ He flopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, letting his thoughts wander over everything.

He was certain, absolutely sure, that he was gay. He couldn't lie to himself about it anymore. And every time he thought about it, it got a little easier to admit it to himself. He'd even done something that was truly uncharacteristically healthy of him, and begun trying to think it to himself at least once every day.  _I'm gay._ He sighed, and rolled over onto his stomach. He still wasn't capable of admitting it to anyone else, of course. Even Kurt, who  _had_ to know—and inexplicably hadn't told anyone in all this time, despite the fact that he clearly wasn't as freaked out about Dave since the vengeance-slushie incident. He grimaced at the thought of trying to look someone else in the eye and say it out loud. Yeah, he definitely wasn't going to be ready for that anytime soon.

 _Damn,_ he thought to himself as he finally heard Melodie come inside and thunder up the stairs—she sounded weirdly pissed off for someone who'd just been laughing her ass off outside, but he decided he didn't want to know— _My brain is just all_ over  _the place today._

* * *

Melodie looked at Sam over the edge of the book she was reading, and suppressed a grin. She had never been one for pretty boys—much preferring to make her boyfriends as scary-looking as possible, mostly for her parents' benefit—but she couldn't deny there was something truly endearing about Sam's angelic face, with his clear, shy blue eyes and wide, sincere grin. Even the way his hair did the Justin Bieber swoop just above one eye was kind of cute, and Melodie flat-out  _hated_ Justin Bieber.

Just then, he looked up from his book and caught her staring. She quickly hid her face in her book, cursing silently at the warmth she could feel in her face.  _Damn Bloom genes,_ she thought.  _Way to make me pale and blush-easy._ She knew Sam had seen her looking at him, but he wasn't saying anything, so she cautiously lowered the book to peek at his expression.

_Crap!_

He'd put the book aside and was watching her, chin resting on his folded hands in front of him, eyes positively  _sparkling_ with amusement. She scowled at him.

"Slacking off already, Evans?" she asked sardonically, raising a catlike eyebrow. He just grinned widely at her, the kind of grin a little kid shows when he knows he's done something bad and is just too cute to punish. She rolled her eyes and set her book aside.

"What?" Sam sobered quickly, pulling a serious face so fast it was almost comical.

"Nothing," he said, but his eyes belied his straight face.

"Seriously, man. You're staring at me like you put a kick-me sign on my back or something." He chuckled.

"Maybe I did. Been kicked lately?"

Melodie made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"You wish you were so creative." Sam shrugged and picked up his book again, commencing with reading. Melodie surreptitiously tried to check her back, attempting to disguise the motion as a stretch. There was nothing there.

 _Oye,_ she thought.  _This is going to be a very long project._

But she was smiling.

* * *

Kurt could not have explained to anyone what he was feeling right at this moment. It made less than zero sense, and quite frankly disturbed him a little bit. But it had just been building little by little, getting worse and worse…and he had a sneaking suspicion that Melodie was somehow to blame, although he couldn't really pin anything on her. After all, she didn't  _know_ Dave—Karofsky, Karofksy!—was gay. She didn't know he had kissed Kurt, or called him beautiful. And she had  _absolutely_ no way of knowing how Kurt was struggling not to warp those moments, so mortifying and awful at the time, into something that fit the pleasant, fluttery, crazy feeling he kept getting in his stomach every time he spotted Dave wearing those ridiculous red sunglasses he'd picked out for him at the mall, hooked into the pocket of his jeans.  _And for the love of all that is fashionable in this world, did he_ have  _to hook them_ there?

Kurt slammed his history book shut with an exasperated sigh. From across the dining room table, Finn looked up.

"Done already?" he asked, his voice a little jealous. Kurt gave him a wan smile.

"Hardly, but my brain needs to rest. There's only so much I can force myself to care about the War of 1812 at the moment, thank you." Finn grinned in that lopsided way that used to make Kurt's heart flutter and nodded his agreement, going back to his own homework. Kurt couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable the two of them had become around each other, slowly but surely going from awkward companionship to something that felt more and more like having a real, true brother. He knew they weren't there yet, but he thought they would be someday soon. Already, they had made a tradition of spreading their homework across the table every night after dinner, instead of retreating to separate ends of the house or spending the time in Kurt's room together. The dining room table felt…just comfortable. Homey. Like a place two brothers would actually hang out to finish homework together. There was a time Kurt had thought he and Finn would never be at ease around each other again, but since the day Finn had rescued him from Azimio and Karofsky in the hallway…he frowned, not liking the Karofsky that day brought to memory. The brute, the dumb jock, the terminal closet-case. Well, he was still the last one, and he still played sports…but he hadn't shoved Kurt or participated in a slushie facial for a couple of weeks now, and Kurt had a suspicion, from the way Melodie would suddenly insist on steering him and Mercedes down a different hallway "just for a change of scenery," that Dave was actually looking out for them.  _Or probably just for his cousin,_ he thought quickly.  _I'm collateral rescue._ His mouth twisted into a rueful smile at the thought. Then…

 _Ugh! What am I thinking?_ He made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl that made Finn look up, a little annoyed at the second interruption, to find Kurt had leaned over and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing fiercely as if trying to dispel some image. It was a very uncharacteristic gesture. Something was obviously wrong.

"Kurt? Seriously, man, what is it? Are you going to tell me, or are you going to just make annoying noises every five minutes for the rest of the night?" Kurt scowled across the table, slouching forward to lean his face on his hands. Also very un-Kurt like.

"I just can't quit thinking—"

"About?" Finn lifted a corner of his mouth in an encouraging smile. Kurt looked at him for a moment, then rolled his eyes.

"Oh all right. But you have to  _swear…_ and I mean swear, Finn, not to tell anyone. Not even Rachel, alright?"

"Sure, it'll just be between us," Finn said, a little perplexed at all the secrecy. Kurt glanced over his shoulder as if checking for spies, and then leaned across the table conspiratorially.

"Okay. There's this guy…"

* * *

Sam watched Melodie bounce nimbly out of his car, turning around to reach in and grab her bag. He grinned. Everything she did seemed buoyant, even her random feminist rants…which, honestly, he found cute. He bet that was somehow sexist.

"Hey wait," he said as she started to withdraw from the car again. She shut the door and leaned over onto the window frame, chin on her crossed arms, grinning at him a tad evilly. He was getting to really like that grin. And the way she laughed at his geeky jokes. And the way she didn't freeze up, or give him a bewildered stare, or outright belittle him for being a dork, whenever he let slip that he knew things like how to speak Na'vi. He was also beginning to wonder what she would look like if he took off the yellow-tinted sunglasses. He couldn't really tell what color her eyes were beneath the bright lenses. But they were pretty eyes…uh-oh. He'd let his attention wander, and she was looking at him strangely.

"Uh, Sam? You still with us, or did you fall asleep and wake up in your other body?"

He snapped out of it and grinned at the reference.

"Only for a second. Hey, do you want to come to my house and watch the movie on Friday? I have the collector's edition. I mean, that way it would be fresh in our heads while we try to write the report, right?"

Melodie laughed. "You just want an excuse to watch it again." Sam ducked his head, nodding sheepishly, and she laughed again. Her laugh was deeper than most girls', a little throaty, but not at all mannish…it was warm. He liked it.

Impulsively, Sam leaned across the seat and planted a kiss on Melodie's smiling mouth.

Just as quickly, her head was out of the car, and she stared at him like he'd slapped her. He looked up at her through the window, trying to read her expression. It was blank for a few seconds, as she just stared at him. Then, it crumpled into something really… _pissed off._

"What the fuck was that?" she yelled at him, and he was so surprised he just stared up at her from his seat, wide-eyed. She slung her bag over her shoulder roughly and turned on her heal, heading for the front door of the Karofsky house without a second glance. Sam got out of the car and called out to her.

"Melodie…hey, wait!" She whirled around and pointed a finger imperiously in his direction.

"Don't you come near me. Gah, you  _idiot! Aaughh!_ " And with that eloquent phraseage, she turned and stomped the rest of the way into the house, slamming the door forcefully. He winced at the noise.

Sam Evans stood there for just a few seconds, wonderful what in the world he'd done wrong. And why this kept happening to him. When he'd first tried to kiss Quinn, she'd freaked out as well, but it was only because she liked him and thought she didn't want to at the time. She hadn't screamed at him, or called him any names. Sam blew out a sigh, causing his bangs to flutter into his eyes, and got back into his car. Obviously, Melodie didn't want to talk to him right now, and in her current mood he sure wasn't going to press her. He'd try to talk to her again tomorrow.  _Maybe then she'll tell me what in the world I_ did, he thought glumly.


	13. Leave Out All The Rest

Kurt cut his eyes nervously from his father to Carol as they marched him down the hallway toward Finn's locker. The trepidation in Finn's expression matched his own.

"Oh," the tall boy said, "What's goin' on? Is…this one of those interventions, 'cause…" Kurt decided to spare him the mental strain.

"If it is, it's for the both of us," he interrupted. "They bombarded me and forced me to bring them to you."

"Okay, c'mon, tell 'em!" Burt burst out, seemingly unable to contain his excitement. Carol tried to object, and for a few moments Finn and Kurt could only bounce back and forth between looking at their respective parents like cartoon characters, trying to decipher the jumble of protestations. Finally, Burt turned to the two of them, taking Carol under his arm and looking happier than Kurt had seen him in as long as he could remember.

"Alright, so you know how I drive Carol to work every Tuesday? Well, today, I drove here, and we snuck into that classroom where Kurt introduced us—very romantic of me, I might add—and I—" Carol, practically vibrating with excitement at Burt's side, couldn't contain it any longer, and broke in with a shriek.

"HE PROPOSED! HE PROPOSED!"

The other three dissolved into making various excited, happy sounds, but all Finn could hear was a weird rushing in his ears. He watched and tried to find some normal emotional response as his mom and Kurt exclaimed over the ring, coming up out of his shocked haze for a moment to give Kurt a weird look when he revealed that he kept wedding magazines under his bed like most guys keep porn. Then his mother was asking him to be happy for her, and looking down into her face, he couldn't help but be. Her eyes were shining. He could practically see the happiness coming off her in waves. He smiled at her.

"I am, mom."

And then Kurt launched into wedding plans, and Finn had to hold back a groan. He was going to be brothers with Kurt. Brothers, for real. They were definitely going to live in the same house. He could hear the jokes now…he could almost  _feel_ the cold of the impending slushie facials. And a part of him felt awful, because none of that should matter. Kurt was his friend. Kurt had taken slushies to the face on a semi-daily basis for years, had even taken one  _for_ Finn once, thrown it in his own face so that Finn wouldn't catch crap from the football team. Kurt had been a real friend to him, and they had really started to get over all the awkwardness from last year and become what Finn always thought a family should be. Kurt confided in him, trusted him. And here he was, worrying about what being Kurt's brother was going to cost him.  _Cheesus. I'm a horrible person,_ he thought. He tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear his brother-to-be's excited declaration.

"Long story short…you're having a Glee wedding!"

Finn hoped Kurt didn't notice how forced the smile he gave him was.

* * *

Dave was really, really bored. As adorable as a super-excited Kurt could be, the hockey player wasn't sure he could take much more talk of fabric swatches, color combinations, and floral arrangements. He'd been through three cups of coffee already, and they were still on the damn wedding. Mercedes, Tina, and Rachel—who had recently joined their mall excursions—were eating it up, of course, even though Rachel kept suggesting things that made even someone as disinterested as Dave want to toss her down the escalator.  _I mean, really?_ He thought.  _Who in their right mind would want a carousel-themed wedding? Oh God, it's rubbing off on me._ He groaned and let his head drop heavily onto the table, earning him a look from Kurt and the girls.

"Problem, Dave?" Kurt asked dryly. Dave looked up at him over his crossed arms with a long-suffering expression that made the smaller boy want to laugh.

"Oh, no problem. By all means continue the torture. Seriously, guys, how long can you possibly argue about orchids versus roses?"

Kurt rolled his eyes at Dave—a truly annoying habit he was picking up from Melodie—and made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "Sure," he said, "Leave it to the Neanderthal to fail to appreciate the finer points of event coordination. This is a  _wedding._ Everything has to be  _perfect._ "

From Dave's other side, Melodie groaned, earning her a raised eyebrow.

"I agree with Dave. If I have to hear you guys talk about train lengths and tiaras much longer, I'm going to vomit. What's the big deal? It's just one day."

Kurt, Tina, Mercedes, and Rachel stared at the two cousins like they had each sprouted an extra head. From the horrified expressions, a really ugly extra head, with lots of teeth and bad breath. Kurt recovered first.

"Melodie, Dave is a boy and a jock and just slightly primeval," he ignored the dirty look and the muttered "watch it, Fancy," said primeval jock shot him, "but I expected more out of you. Haven't you ever  _been_ to a wedding?"

"No," the cousins answered simultaneously, earning them a horrified squeak from the other boy.

"Well, that settles it, then," he said emphatically.

"Wait," said Dave, pausing midway into a sip of his fourth latte, a feeling of dread coming over him, "settles  _what,_ exactly?" Kurt gave him a lopsided smile and a raised eyebrow that just made Dave's dread even worse.

"Melodie was already required to attend, seeing as she'll be singing with New Directions. But now, Dave Karofsky, you will be coming with her. I hope you have a suit!"

Dave almost choked on his latte.

* * *

"Melodie…hey, Melodie, wait!"

Melodie sighed and spun around in the hall, clutching her books to her chest like a shield. Sam, who had been almost jogging to catch up, just barely managed not to run right over her.

"What do you  _want,_ Sam? If the five unreturned phone calls, me blowing off  _Avatar_ movie night, avoiding talking to you in English all week, and de-friending you on Facebook were too subtle for you, here it is: I. don't. want. to. talk. to. you." She turned to go, but Sam grabbed her arm.

"Seriously, Melodie, just tell me what I  _did,_ alright? I thought we were having fun together, and now you won't even talk to me long enough to tell me what I did wrong?"

She looked at him hard for a second, and then let out an exasperated sigh and dragged him into an open classroom, looking over her shoulder to make sure nobody was paying attention. Shutting the door, she turned to him.

"Okay, I thought you were smarter than you looked, but apparently not. Do you even have to ask what you did, Sam?  _Nothing_ sticks out in your mind?"

"Well…I…kissed you?" Melodie threw up her hands.

"Exactly! You  _kissed_ me! We were doing a project together and having fun and getting along just  _fine,_ and you had to go and ruin it by kissing me! What the hell were you thinking?" Sam just stared. Melodie had never struck him as particularly girly before now, but she was definitely showing a crazy streak to rival Quinn's—or even Rachel's. He tried to adopt a calming tone of voice, and kept his distance from her as he spoke.

"Um, well…I was thinking that you're funny. And easy to talk to. And then I was thinking about how I've never really been able to tell what color your eyes are behind your sunglasses, but I wanted to know, and then…I just wanted to kiss you. So I did." He mumbled the last part, looking down at his hands, blonde hair falling over one eye and a sheepish grin on his face. Melodie forced herself to look away, at a temporary loss for words. When she did speak, her voice was softer and had lost its hysterical edge a bit.

"Look, Sam…I'm new here. I'm just getting my bearings. And…well, I don't actually plan on staying that long." Sam looked up, a question in his eyes, and she sighed and tossed her spiky bangs aside with one hand, coming to lean against a desk next to him.

"I had friends at my old school, Sam. Good friends, and now I'm not even allowed to see them or talk to them. That's part of the reason I don't have a phone of my own, it makes it easier for Aunt Gina and Uncle Paul to keep tabs on who I'm talking with. I can message them online, because it would be almost impossible to keep me from doing that, but for all intents and purposes I'm completely cut off from everyone I know."

"You were getting to know me…and the other Glee kids, too," said Sam, hastily adding that last part on. She shot him a rueful smile.

"Yes, and you're great. You all are. But I don't  _want_ to get to know you." Sam looked hurt, and she hurried on to explain. "Okay, that's not true. I do, but I don't want to stay here. I'm only here for the rest of the school year, and then I'm hoping my parents will let me come home, and go back to  _my_ school,  _my_ friends. I miss them like crazy. It sucks."

"Okay, that's fine," Sam said. "But I don't get it…what's the harm in making new friends in the meantime? Are you seriously just going to be alone the whole time you're here?"

"As much as possible. Sure, I've made a few friends here, more than I meant to. And I have fun with you, and I love hanging out with Mercedes and Kurt and Tina, and even crazy Rachel Berry sometimes. But I'm leaving, Sam. I'm going home the first chance I get, and I don't want a whole new set of people to miss when I do."

She got up and swung around to face him.

"So, when you kissed me, it freaked me out. I can't afford to do that right now. I don't need the complication and I certainly don't need the attachment. So…can't we just stop at me being funny and easy to talk to? Leave out the other stuff?"

Sam considered his feet for a moment.  _This really sucks,_ he thought. First Quinn, now Melodie. Quinn, the perfect girl, the girl he'd thought he'd wanted, didn't really like him. The more time he spent with Melodie, the more he realized that. And now here was this girl who  _did_ like him, liked the same things as him, didn't make him feel ten kinds of awkward and stupid every time he let his guard down…and she didn't want him.  _What the heck,_ he thought, looking up at her half-pained, half-quizzical expression.  _At least I'll have one friend who'll watch_ Avatar  _with me. And who knows, maybe…_

He smiled, looking out at her from under his hair. "Sure. We can leave it out."

* * *

Kurt was ninety percent sure he was moments from imploding out of sheer joy. Yes, there would be no more Kurt Hummel, just a gaping black hole tearing the fabric of reality and sucking all excitement into it inexorably…he took a deep, steadying breath.

_I really need to stop watching those sci-fi movies Dave keeps recommending._

He watched as his  _parents_ had their first dance together, both looking so happy. It was a fight to keep himself from tearing up again—he hadn't even tried to hold back during the ceremony itself. At the other end of the table, Finn grinned at him, and something in that grin made Kurt suddenly suspicious. He knew Finn pretty well by now, and he could swear that the combination of emotions in that expression were nervousness, excitement, amusement, and smugness. Finn was up to something, he just knew it.

As their first dance ended and Finn got up to give his speech, Kurt found out what it was, and he slowly found himself losing the battle against the happy tears.

"In Glee club, whenever two of us got together we got a nickname. Rachel and I are Finchel; Rachel and Puck were Puckleberry. And today, a new union was formed: Furt." The crowd chuckled a bit, and Kurt felt his face coloring up. "You and me, man. We're brothers from another mother, and quite frankly, no one else has shown me as much as you about what it means to be a man." Kurt felt the tears spill over, but he was past caring. "And sometimes, I haven't been there for you like I should. I've worried about what people would think of me." Finn looked down at his feet for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and looked back up, his eyes on Kurt's watery blue ones. He was determined he was going to be a real brother, the kind he wanted, the kind he thought his father would have wanted him to be, and the kind he knew Kurt needed.

"I guess…that's kind of always been my problem. But you…you teach me every day how not to care about all that stuff. So from now on, no matter what it costs me, I got your back. Even if it means getting a slushie in the face now and then." The Glee kids laughed a little at that, and then got up and began taking their places at the edge of the dance floor. Kurt looked at Finn, wide-eyed and questioning. Finn smiled.

"The fact that you managed to put all this together by yourself just blows my mind. So this is something we put together for you in Glee club." He leaned in as he sat down his drink, and grinned at Kurt's expression. "And…you're gonna dance it with me, bro," he said. Kurt gave him a mortified look and shook his head emphatically, but Finn just grinned and stepped back onto the dance floor, breaking seamlessly into "Just The Way You Are" as Kurt looked on, amazed and proud.

* * *

Dave shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was definitely out of his element here. He was in a suit and tie, at a wedding, and surrounded by members of the Glee club that kept throwing him suspicious looks throughout the night, as if expecting him to suddenly turn into the Hulk and start smashing things.  _Not that I can blame them,_ he thought ruefully. He supposed he was lucky the guys in the club had let him through the door in the first place. They had been all for throwing him out on his ass, especially Finn and Sam, but Kurt, Mercedes, Melodie…and, to his surprise, Tina and Rachel as well, had managed to convince them all that he was cool. That didn't keep Puckerman from glaring at him every five minutes. Dave tried to tune that out as he watched Kurt through the whole ceremony and well into the reception.

Watching Kurt dance was…well, it was beautiful. His pale face was flushed with excitement, his eyes were positively  _shining,_ and he moved with absolute grace. Dave couldn't take his eyes off him. Consequently, it took him a few seconds before he realized someone was prodding his shoulder. He turned, his blissful expression collapsing into annoyance as he saw Melodie peaking out at him from under her ridiculous hair.

"Hey, get up Neanderthal. Time to dance." His protests were lost as she pulled him out of his seat and onto the dance floor, shoving him into the group of dancing Glee kids, their parents, and the Hummel-Hudson foursome. He tripped and stumbled right into…Kurt.

The smaller boy turned and laughed at the embarrassed look on Dave's face. Then he grabbed Dave's hands and started dancing him around, not really trying to look good, just having fun and swaying to the music. And Dave decided not to think about it…he just went with it, dancing along, surrounded by the members of Glee club. Mercedes twirled him around once, too, before passing him off to Rachel, then Tina, and finally Melodie, who laughed and shook her head and pushed him back towards Kurt just as the music slowed down and grew softer. Quickly, the dancers paired off: Brittany with Artie, Puck with Santana, Finn and Rachel, the bride and groom, Mike and Tina, Melodie and Sam—he idly wondered, but didn't really think about that one too hard—and…Quinn and Mercedes? The two girls were dancing together and laughing about something. Dave hadn't even known they were friends. That just left… _oh God._

Kurt was smiling radiantly, still riding the high from the wedding ceremony and Finn's speech and the song he'd put together for him, and he spun away from Mercedes and Quinn over to Dave without thinking. He'd danced with Finn and his dad, and he'd even done a twirl or two with Puck and Mike, so why not? He grabbed Dave's hands and pulled him along, laughing as the bigger boy blushed and stumbled over his own feet before gaining his balance and some sort of rhythm. And then, he was dancing with Dave, the music swelling around them as they waltzed through a crowd of Kurt's closest friends and loved ones, both oblivious to the astonished and curious glances said friends and loved ones were throwing their way—particularly Burt and Finn.

_Tears on the sleeve of a man…don't wanna be a boy today. Heard the eternal footman bought himself a bike to race. Grady writes letters and burns his CDs. They say you were something in those formative years. Well, hold on to nothing, as fast as you can…well…still, a pretty good year._

"Who is that?" Dave asked, his voice a little husky. "I've never heard it before."

"I'm not surprised," Kurt replied. "It's something Carol's in love with, one of those 90s female alternative singer-songwriters. Tori Amos, I think? Most of her music is a bit weird for a wedding, but Carol really wanted something by her, so I found one that was dance-able."

Dave smiled down at the other boy. "It's pretty, although I hear what you mean. It is kind of weird. But…I like it." And he pulled Kurt into a surprisingly elegant twirl as the music grew around them, the singer's voice morphing into a heartfelt almost-cry.

_Some things are melting now…well, hey…what's it gonna take till my baby's alright? What's it gonna take till my baby's alright…_

Kurt laughed as Dave steadied him coming out of the spin. He looked up at the jock with something Dave couldn't identify in his eyes.

"David Karofsky, I had no idea you were such a good dancer." Dave ducked his head, blushing.

"My parents made me do cotillion when I was, like, twelve. They thought it might make me less of a klutz. Turns out, the only thing that could do that was hockey." He grinned sheepishly at Kurt, and the smaller boy felt the heat creeping into his face as his heart sputtered and skipped over a few beats. Their steps had grown slower and their bodies had moved closer, till their chests were almost touching. Kurt's hand suddenly felt too warm in Dave's larger one as he realized the song had changed to a bouncier number, that he was practically within kissing distance of Dave Karofsky— _again,_ he tried very hard not to think—and that a few of his friends were staring at them. With a small gasp, he dropped Dave's hands as if they were red-hot irons and took a step backwards.

"Kurt?" Dave made to move towards him, and Kurt turned and  _ran._ Dave just looked at him, resignation on his face, before he sighed and returned to his seat, feeling the eyes on his back and for once in his life, not caring.

* * *

"So, one heck of a party, right?" Dave looked up to see Finn Hudson staring down at him from his freakish height. His expression was guardedly sympathetic, and it put Dave on edge instantly.

"What do you want, Hudson?" He mentally cringed at the sound of  _Karofsky_ in his voice. He really enjoyed being just Dave, and he hated the angry sound of the bully that crept in whenever he felt cornered or scared. But Finn just held up his hands, motioning for Dave to chill.

"Nothing, dude. I just…I saw what happened with you and Kurt."

"Nothing happened with me and Kurt. I was just…being nice. It's his parents' wedding, he wanted to dance."

"Since when does Kurt want to dance with you, man? He was terrified of you a few weeks ago."

Dave didn't look at Finn. When  _had_ Kurt stopped being afraid of him? It had been awhile. He hadn't slushied anyone for a long time; he'd been pretty inconspicuous as far as the Glee kids were concerned, actually. He'd been hanging out with Kurt a lot, via Melodie. Kurt hadn't really seemed afraid of him since that day with the sunglasses. But when had 'not afraid' turned into 'willing to dance with him?' He figured Kurt wouldn't want to be any closer to him than he had to, after that kiss…he grimaced and put a hand to his forehead. But Finn's next words brought him up short, causing his hand to drop to the table with a loud thud as he turned to look at the tall boy with fear evident on his face.

"I know what happened between you guys, Karofsky."

Dave's mouth felt like it had gone completely dry.

"How? I mean…who told you?" Kurt didn't. Kurt  _wouldn't._ Would he?

"Well…I kind of figured it out," Finn said with a sigh, pulling up a chair and sitting in it backwards. His voice was sympathetic and his face was friendly and understanding.

"Look, man…Kurt's my brother. Even before today, we talk. He mentioned that there was this guy who'd kissed him. Didn't tell me  _anything_ about who it was. Just said he was scared of this guy and thought this guy hated him, until one day he yelled at him and got kissed instead of punched." Dave cringed a bit, but he didn't lose his temper like Finn would have expected, so he continued.

"He wouldn't tell me who it was. Said it wasn't his secret to tell. But…I dunno. After you showed up today, I wondered. And then after I saw you guys dance, and the way Kurt freaked there at the end. It was you, wasn't it? You kissed him."

Dave didn't meet his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was harsh and defensive.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hudson. I'm not gay, alright?"

Finn sighed again, standing up. "Fine man, whatever. Just…look, if you ever need to talk, you can come to me. There are people who would accept you. You don't have to hide who you are. I know that sounds totally hypocritical coming from me, but take it from someone who knows. Being who you are and getting crap for it is a whole lot better than trying to be someone you're not and getting slapped on the back by a bunch of people who don't know the real you or care about that person. Because all the time you're soaking up that praise, you'll know that you don't really deserve it because you're just lying, to yourself…and to everybody. Just think about it, okay?"

"There's nothing to think about," said Dave, the defensive tone ruined by the bitter, tired quality to his voice now. "I'm  _not_ gay. And even if I were," added so low that Finn just barely caught it, "Kurt would never be interested in me anyway." Finn just stared at the jock's hunched shoulders, not really sure how to comfort the guy. Finally, he settled on the truth.

"I know I should technically tell you to stay the hell away from my brother, but I think maybe that's something the two of you should work out on your own. You'd better not hurt him, but if you want something…you'll never know until you try for it, right?" And Finn was gone, leaving Dave with too many thoughts.


	14. Competition

Kurt was 90% sure he wasn't going to be able to get to sleep. Sectionals were tomorrow, which was enough to get anyone worked up and freaked out, especially since Mr. Shuester had inexplicably decided to pull out a largely-untried Sam and Quinn as the soloists for the first number, followed by Santana of all people for the second. Not that he doubted their ability, but tensions were pretty high in Glee Club over the choice. Rachel and Finn weren't speaking either, after Santana's revelation that Finn had slept with her. Kurt shuddered at the very thought.  _Gah, even if I were straight I wouldn't go near Santana. There's just no telling what you'd catch!_

Unfortunately, all that drama wasn't enough to keep his mind from dwelling on a certain closet-case ex-bully jock. On the feel of his hand on the small of Kurt's back as they danced, on the warm glow in his eyes, on the way it transformed his face when he was at ease and having fun…on the way he'd said Kurt's name softly and leaned in closer…on the way Kurt was absolutely certain for a second that Dave Karofsky was going to try to kiss him again, and on the flash of absolute terror he'd felt when he'd realized that he was going to _let_ him, that he  _wanted_ him to.

_Okay, dwarf on the dark side of the moon…this is officially no longer funny. Put my sanity back, already._

Kurt rolled over and stared at the alarm clock, trying to think about something, anything, other than Dave Karofsky. Because he could not be developing a crush on his former bully. That was…beyond twisted. The guy had gone out of his way to make Kurt feel like crap. He'd lost count of the slushies Dave had personally thrown into his face. And he'd stolen his first kiss, a kiss that should have happened after a romantic first date, not after a yelling match in a dimly lit locker room. Sure, Dave hadn't bothered him in awhile. He was actually nice to him, at least outside of school. And in school, he ignored him, avoided contact. Of course, that was the other problem: he was still in the closet. So far in the closet he wouldn't even be friends with Kurt in front of his jock buddies. If Kurt did develop a crush on him, where could it possibly go? Dave wasn't going to carry his books to class or kiss him in the hallways, hold his hand…they could still make out in the janitor's closet…

 _No! Stop right there, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. You are gay, proud, and_  out _of the closet. No way are you going to pursue anything with David freaking Karofsky. First Finn, then Sam, now this? What is it with me and jocks? Ugh! No, I do_ not  _think of him that way. And he doesn't think about me at all. We have an understanding, that's it. A truce for Melodie's sake. God, I'm going to have bags under my eyes on stage tomorrow, I just know it._

He laid there a long time, forcing his thoughts in any direction other than the look on Dave's face while they were dancing, the warmth in his eyes. He didn't get to sleep for a very long time.

* * *

Dave was 90% sure he was going to go crazy if he couldn't stop thinking about Kurt Hummel.

He wasn't even trying to sleep; he'd given up on that hours ago. Now, he was just sitting at his computer, staring blankly at the screen, thoughts lingering on forbidden subject matter that he nevertheless found himself continually coming back to. Kurt's face, alight with happiness as he danced at his parents' wedding. Kurt's warm body in his arms, not shying away from his touch, not looking afraid or nervous in the least, laughing up at him as he tried not to stumble. Kurt's wicked little grin when he was up to something, the way he smiled with only one side of his mouth when he was mocking someone. The way he could look so effortlessly sexy while mocking someone, and the way he was so beautiful when he let the bitch-face slip and just showed the soft, caring person underneath that it made Dave ache just looking at him. The way his eyes showed exactly what he was feeling at any given moment. The way they'd fluttered closed for just a second as Dave had leaned toward him on the dance floor, before they'd gone wide with realization and terror…

Dave groaned and dropped his head into his hands, willing his brain to shut up already. He'd gone over all of it in his head so many times, but this part always confused him. What the hell had he been thinking? He'd been swept up in the wedding, and the music, and Kurt's laughter…the onslaught was sweeter, but no less brutal than the sound of Kurt's voice throwing insult after insult in his face, the sight of Kurt flushing and furious, inches from him, skin practically glowing in the dim light of the locker rooms. It had been that scene all over again, painted in brighter colors. Kurt was too close, there were too many things assaulting Dave's senses at once, and he'd just lost his fucking mind for a minute, and he'd leaned in. He was going to kiss Kurt Hummel in front of the entire Glee Club, and his mouthy, bitchy cousin…in front of Kurt's brother and his  _dad…_ and he didn't even give a damn that all these people would see, and draw the inevitable conclusion.

And Kurt was going to let him. Dave tried to tell himself he'd imagined the whole thing, but he saw it every time he ran the scene through in his mind again. Before the realization hit, Kurt had been relaxed in his arms, his lips parted, still half-smiling, and his eyes had closed as Dave had leaned toward him, long lashes against his cheek for a moment before sanity, self-preservation,  _something_ clicked and his eyes had flown open, body had gone rigid, the moment had passed. He'd run away.

Dave wanted to die every time he thought of what he'd almost done. He'd let himself get swept away in a moment and almost outed himself, not to mention almost forced more kisses on the boy who didn't look at him that way, would never look at him that way. He was surprised all Kurt did was run away, and half-worried about where he'd gone. What if he'd managed to give the kid some kind of post-traumatic reaction or something? God knows he'd scared him enough in the past that it wasn't an entirely ridiculous possibility.

Groaning again, he finally decided he needed a distraction from thinking of Kurt. He stretched and stood up, walking to his closet and groping blindly for a towel. Maybe he would be able to silence his brain with a hot shower.

* * *

On the outside, Kurt Hummel looked calm and collected, even a little bored. He was examining his cuticles with half-lidded eyes, lounging against a wall and ignoring the bickering around him. Rachel throwing a pint-sized hissy over not getting a solo, Mike and Tina and Artie and Brittany having a silent staring war, Finn looking bewildered and upset—the first part being his usual expression, but still—and everyone just generally in a terrible mood. Except Kurt, who looked bored, disinterested, aloof from it all. On the outside.

On the inside, however, Kurt was having his very own, slightly-taller-than-Rachel's hissy fit. His heart was racing. He got like this before a performance, even one that he didn't have a solo or special part in. He was monumentally nervous, his knees wanted to knock together and his teeth wanted to chatter. But "about to pee himself with fright" wasn't exactly a good look, so he kept it inside and—he tried to convince himself—metaphorical.

_Why can't it be like at home when I perform with Brit and Tina in front of my video camera? Or even at school, where I sing in front of the rest of the club? I'm never nervous then._

But it wasn't. He knew the Glee Club, and they all knew he was fabulous, and  _he_ knew that the only thing standing in the way of him being the most fabulous of them all was Rachel Berry, not her talent but her femaleness that made her more socially acceptable as the lead for so many high-pitched solos. He sighed, leaving the room to grab a drink of water and calm his nerves just as Mr. Shue came in, no doubt to solidify everyone with a rousing speech about teamwork.

He had just grabbed his water from the refreshment table when it was nearly knocked all over him by a small, dark-haired, dapperly-dressed boy…no doubt from another choir. The angry comment on Kurt's tongue died a little death as the boy grasped him by the arms to keep him from falling right over and stepped back to fix Kurt with a pair of wide, long-lashed hazel eyes set in a truly swoon-worthy face with hair even more perfect than Kurt's own stylish 'do.

"Wow, I am  _so_ sorry," said the boy. He spoke with perfect diction, Kurt noticed. "I guess the nerves have me forgetting my manners a little. Are you alright?" Kurt could only nod, and the other boy flashed a set of perfect white teeth at him.

"Good. I'm Blaine Anderson, Dalton Academy Warbler. And you are?" He released Kurt's arms and grasped his hand in a firm, friendly handshake. His hands were very soft, and Kurt found his usual articulate nature had deserted him entirely.

"I, uh…um…Kurt Hummel," he blurted, flinching mentally at how breathless and girlish his voice sounded. "I'm with the New Directions. William McKinley High School." He could actually  _feel_ his cheeks turning red, but Blaine Anderson just smiled wider.

"Nice to meet you, Kurt Hummel. Good luck out there! Well, it's almost time for my group to go on. I'd ask you to cheer me on, but that would entail quite the conflict of interest, don't you think?" With that, the perfect boy was gone, leaving Kurt's hand tingling and his face flushed, his previous nervousness forgotten entirely. He headed back to the choir room just in time to grab Mercedes so they could sit together as they watched the other performances. He had just finished whispering to her about the gorgeous boy he'd just met in the lobby as the Hipsters—adorable old people, but Kurt was confident they were no competition—finished their set, and then the announcer presented the Dalton Academy Warblers. Kurt sat up a little straighter in his seat.

But when he actually  _saw_ the Warblers start singing, he slumped into his seat and turned so red he thought steam must be pouring out of his ears and from beneath his collar. Their lead singer was… _Blaine Anderson._ He was turning "Hey, Soul Sister" into Kurt's favorite song with his perfect voice backed only by his teammates' synchronized vocals, and he seemed to have found Kurt in the crowd somehow, even though Kurt knew from experience the lights were too bright to allow him to pick out faces. He was singing at Kurt, his face open and expressive and his voice breathtaking. He was so confident and at ease on stage. It was like watching a rockstar.

"Um, Kurt? You okay?" Melodie's voice barely reached him through the haze of utter embarrassment and butterflies he was feeling at the moment. He cut his eyes at her, looking most un-Melodie-like in her outfit for sectionals, just like all the other girls'. He gave her a small smile.

"Their lead soloist? I ran into him in the lobby earlier. And I think he's  _singing_ at me."

Melodie frowned up at the boy, and then followed his eyes to where they did, indeed, seem to be falling on a flustered Kurt.  _That's not good,_ she thought.  _Dave doesn't stand a chance against that kind of competition._

Obviously, she would have to up her game a little.

* * *

Kurt had never felt so happy. He was home, showered, out of his sectionals outfit and into a pair of comfortable-yet-stylish pajamas. His moisturizing routine was done for the day, and he was tucked warmly into bed, checking his text messages. There were tons from New Directions, everyone congratulating each other. Rachel, never one for relaxing and enjoying the moment, was sending around possible set lists for Regionals.  _We didn't win, guys, we tied, let's not forget that. I for one don't flatter myself that in our current condition we'll be able to pull off another tie at Regionals. We need to have something new and completely different to blow the judges away!_

Kurt deleted the fifth message from Rachel without even opening it, chuckling a little at her annoying persistence. Then he got one from Mercedes that made his heart skip a beat.

_Hey, Kurt. I hope you don't mind, I gave your number to this hot guy from the Warblers who asked if you were gay and single. He was pretty cute. You can thank me later, white boy!_

He was just about to call Mercedes and thank her or yell at her, he wasn't sure which yet, when he got another text message, and his heart nearly jumped into his throat until he saw that it was just Dave.

_Melodie came home shrieking like a banshee. I guess that means you won? Congrats._

Smiling indulgently, he was typing a reply when yet another message popped up in his inbox.  _At this rate, I'm going to need a better texting plan._

The message was short, and from an unknown number.

_Your group was amazing Kurt Hummel. Congratulations. Hopefully we'll bump into each other again sometime._

Kurt grinned and hit "reply" immediately, typing happily away, the message from Dave entirely forgotten.

_Technically, you bumped into me. I'm going to go out on a limb and say this is Blaine Anderson of the Warblers?_

_Fair enough,_ came the reply.  _And yes. I was very taken with your group's song selection. It was quite…unique._

Kurt was still texting an hour later when his dad came downstairs and sternly told him to turn out the lights and go to sleep.


	15. Music in the Night

Melodie was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as she walked to Glee Club. It was Friday. It had been a week since Kurt's parents had gotten married, and they were off on their honeymoon, and she had finally found the  _perfect_ way to advance what she referred to in her head as Operation: Kurvey. She had noticed Kurt texting furiously in class all week, and she was sure it was with the Blaine guy. Judging from how often Kurt kept bringing him up, she knew she'd have to move fast if she was ever going to get Davey to make a move before this Blaine person undid all the progress she'd seen at the wedding. Melodie was nothing if not observant and persistent. And no warbling prep schooler with gelled hair was going to foil her plans. She'd spent the last two days wearing Aunt Gina down and getting her to go along with the plan...without really knowing exactly what the plan  _was_ of course. Tina, Mercedes, and Rachel were all on board...although, once again, they had  _no idea_ exactly what they were helping her do. They'd probably chase her out of town covered in tar and feathers if they found out. Now all that was left was the linchpin: Kurt.

She arrived at the choir room before Mr. Shue, as usual. Plopping down in the seat next to Kurt, she turned and leaned in conspiratorially, grinning her trademark recently-fed-canary grin.

"Hey, Kurt...what are you doing this weekend?"

* * *

_Freaking finally._ Dave was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He knew Melodie was a bitch, but he couldn't _believe_  she'd actually done this to him. He hadn't left his room since dinner, and he was tired of listening to all the squealing that was the four-girls-and-a-gay-guy sleepover in the living room. That basically translated to being stuck in his room for the last four hours, and he was hungry, bored as hell, and he really needed to go to the bathroom. But no way was he going to even attempt to deal with the reality of Kurt Hummel in his house. In his pajamas. So he was incredibly relieved when he finally heard his mother request, in a voice that sounded as frazzled as he felt, that they all go to bed.

The weirdest part of the whole thing had been his parents. He'd been upstairs in his room when he'd heard the doorbell, and after the third chime he'd cursed and gotten up to get it, opening his front door to see Kurt Hummel, of all people, standing there with a pillow tucked under one arm and an overnight bag in his hand.

"Umm…Kurt? You lost?" he'd said lamely. Kurt had fixed him with those  _eyes_ , in full bitch-mode, eyebrow and mouth both quirked, nose turned up—although admittedly, he  _had_ to look up a bit to meet Dave's eyes—and scoffed at him.

"No, Dave, I'm not lost. I'm here for Melodie. We're having a sleepover."

"A… _what?"_

"Oh Dave, move and let the boy in," came his mother's voice as she bustled up behind him. Nudging her son aside, she ushered Kurt inside and closed the door behind him, giving her son a disappointed look.

"Welcome, Kurt. Melodie! One of your friends is here!" Dave watched, slightly dazed, as Melodie came bounding downstairs wearing some kind of ridiculous getup involving combat boots and a sundress that had seen better days.  
  


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She grabbed Kurt's bag and was telling him to follow her upstairs when Gina Karofsky stopped her.

"Hold on a minute, young lady." Melodie looked like she had something to say about  _that_ designation, but Gina kept going before she could say anything. "I agreed to Kurt sleeping over, but he isn't sharing your room." Melodie stared at her aunt.

"Aunt Gina, you have  _nothing_ to worry about with me and Kurt. Besides, Rachel and Tina and Mercedes will be here too."

"All the more reason. Do you think I'm going to leave poor Kurt to the mercy of four hormone-riddled teenage girls? The temptation would kill him." Dave held his breath, wondering how Melodie was going to explain this one. However, Kurt saved her the trouble.

"Oh, there will be no temptation on my end, Mrs. Karofsky, I assure you." She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, and he laughed. "No really…you see, I'm gay."

To his astonishment, Dave's mother didn't miss a beat.

"Well, I guess that nixes you sharing Dave's room. You'll have to take the couch, Kurt. Orientations aside, I don't want to have to explain to any of the other girls' parents why I allowed them to be unsupervised with a teenage boy all night. You understand?"

Kurt had colored up a bit at the remark about Dave—to say nothing of Dave himself, who felt like he was probably destined to be beet-colored for the rest of his life—but he smiled easily at Mrs. Karofsky.

"Although I assure you Dave would be no more temptation than the girls, as I barely know him, I am more than fine with the couch. Thank you for having me over, Mrs. Karofsky."

And just like that, his mom was won over. She  _adored_ Kurt. His clothes, his prim manners, his sense of humor. Over dinner he had her laughing so hard she had to leave the table for a moment.

His father's reaction to Kurt, though, was what had Dave hiding in his room, his stomach in knots, more uncertain than he'd ever been and unable to even look at the other boy at the moment.

"So, Kurt, my wife tells me you're gay?" Dave almost choked on his drink, but Kurt simply wiped his mouth daintily with a napkin and answered his father.

"Yes, sir, I am. Openly so."

"All your friends and family know? Your father, the kids at school?"

"Yes sir, they've known for a little over a year now. I came out to my father at the beginning of last year. He's been very supportive of me. And my friends are great."

"That's…very brave of you. You wouldn't believe how many closeted teenagers I see in my line of work, terrified of telling people and losing the support of their families. It's a dark place to be. Do you get much trouble about it?"

Here, Dave was caught between wanting to crawl into a hole and die and being transfixed by the sound of his father's easy acceptance of Kurt's sexuality.  _It's a dark place, alright. It is really that easy? Just, you're gay, that's great, what's it like? Oh god, what if he tells my dad what I've been up to at school?_

But Kurt had never told his secrets, not once. He should have known better than to expect anything else by now.

"I've had a little trouble, sure. Some people are just afraid of what they don't understand. But some of them are slowly coming around, and as for the rest, I don't care. I'm proud to be different."

"It's the best thing about him," Dave said without thinking, going immediately red in the face as five sets of very shocked eyes turned to him. His parents didn't seem to think anything about this statement was strange, and the conversation progressed from there. But Dave excused himself soon after, and he'd locked himself into his room and hadn't come out since.

But now, at long-last, the sounds of the sleepover had quieted. They may not be asleep, but the party had at least moved to the attic, leaving his way clear. After quickly grabbing a shower and changing into his favorite sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, he grabbed a snack from the fridge and headed back to his room. He did some homework while he ate his Cheetos and Yoohoo. Unable to sleep, he nevertheless waited until he was sure everyone had to be asleep before he pulled out his guitar. If Dave had ever needed a distraction more than he did right now, he couldn't remember it. Still, he played as quietly as he could manage, just in case Melodie and her group of shrieking harpies were still painting each others' toenails or something upstairs.

_Tornado green and ocean blue. I looked so hard to find the colors complex enough to describe you: tornado green and ocean blue._

It was something he'd been working on for a few weeks now. He just couldn't get it out of his head. Dave didn't think he was typically the kind to write a love song, and he would never have admitted who the song was about, but as he sang it he couldn't help but picture the eyes that had inspired the song in the first place.

_The midnight's red, and the morning's grey. Mother Nature likes things to seem mysterious. Why do you laugh and then run away? Why does your smile look so damn serious?_

* * *

Kurt couldn't sleep. He wasn't sure what was more to blame: the fact that he was in a strange house, the fact that his former bully was sleeping just down the hall, or the fact that the manufacturer of this couch-bed had been playing so fast and loose with the word "bed." He had never been so many kinds of uncomfortable in his life. And now there was music playing somewhere.

 _Wait a second…_ Kurt sat up.  _That's not music playing…that's someone playing music._

He got up, intrigued. It was quiet, just an acoustic guitar and a soft baritone voice, but it was…well, pretty. But he couldn't make out the words. Cautiously, Kurt got up, cringing a bit at the cold hardwood floors under his bare feet, and tiptoed down the hall, following the sound to the foot of the stairs. Pausing only a moment, he tiptoed up.

He found himself stopped cold in the middle of the hallway outside a bedroom door. Dave Karofsky's bedroom door.

_Dave Karofsky's bedroom door?_

Kurt tried to wrap his mind around it. Dave Karofsky, the idiot bully who named his fist and tortured Glee Club, who stole his first kiss, who threw slushies at him whenever the opportunity presented itself. The Neanderthal.

_The guy whose eyes crinkle when he laughs, who wears those ridiculous sunglasses to school every day, who hates shopping but takes his cousin whenever she wants to go with us and actually seems to have fun, who danced with me at my parents' wedding…stop it, Kurt!_

But the evidence was incontrovertible. He had seen Dave disappear into his room after dinner as he was doing his moisturizing routine in the upstairs bathroom, and now he was standing here, and he could clearly hear the sound of a husky baritone voice that had to belong to Dave, singing along to a guitar that Dave must be playing…singing a song Kurt had never heard before.

_With heather grey and diamond white, another color moving just beneath the surface…just like the colors of your eyes: heather grey and diamond-bright._

And then the music changed, and Kurt felt creepy for listening in, but he couldn't seem to make his feet move. This time, he knew the song…or he thought he did, but it was different than he remembered it.

_All her signals are getting lost in the ether…let's go all the way tonight. She's a landslide, with a city beneath her…no regrets, just love. So take a good look, so you'll never forget it…we can dance until we die. Take a deep breath, I know I'm gonna regret it. You and I will be young forever. You think I'm pretty without any makeup on. Holly let me out! You think I'm funny when I tell the punch line wrong. Holly let me out! I know you get me, so I let my walls come down. Holly let me out!_

It was a mash-up. Of…"Easy Target" by blink-182 and "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry? Of all things…but Kurt had to admit, he kind of liked it. He smiled…and the music changed again. And this time, he found himself blushing furiously. It was "Pretty Good Year," the song he'd danced with Dave to at his parents' wedding. Hearing Amos's breathy music in Dave's husky, deep voice was strange, but not unpleasant. Kurt felt something flutter in the pit of his stomach. Was Dave… _singing_ about him?

 _Don't be stupid,_ he reprimanded himself.  _He probably just remembers the song and liked it!_ Feeling like a complete creep for spying, Kurt started to back away…and the music changed again.

_Oh, you're fancy, huh? Oh, you're fancy, huh? Oh, you're fancy, yeah…_

_nails done, hair done, everything did…_

Fancy. The obnoxious name Dave had thrown at him more than once…the first time it had been an insult, but lately Dave had taken to calling him that around Melodie and the other girls. It was almost like a friendly nickname. Or, judging from the song…a pet name.  _Oh God._

Kurt took a deep breath, and reached out to turn the doorknob. He had no idea what he was doing. But it was like watching someone else act. Before he had time to really think about the possible consequences of what he was doing, he was opening the door as quietly as he could, slipping through it, shutting it behind him and turning the lock, his eyes fixed on Dave in his baggy sweatpants and tight white t-shirt, guitar in his hands, strumming and singing quietly to himself. At the small noise, he looked up, and his voice seemed to die in his throat as his fingers stilled on the guitar strings.

"Kurt? Um…what are you doing in here?"


	16. The Talk

Kurt swallowed hard. He hadn't really thought this through. It had just clicked together in his head that Dave was singing about him,  _had_ to be singing about him, and it had seemed like the thing to do. Now, though, he felt his heart race as Dave sat the guitar aside and stood up.

"I couldn't sleep," he blurted hastily, pressing back against the door. "The couch…it isn't very comfortable, and I don't sleep well in strange places anyway, and then I heard music, and I just wanted to see what it was…"

Dave just looked at him, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrow raised. Kurt tried not to focus on his arms, but then decided it was preferable to looking into Dave's eyes.

"My mom seriously made you sleep on the couch? But…you're gay." Kurt couldn't help it; he rolled his eyes at the bigger boy.

"Well, yes, but your mother's sense of propriety hasn't quite caught up with her knowledge of my sexuality." Dave groaned.

"Convoluted sentence translates to?" This time, Kurt couldn't hold back a tiny scoff, and he felt his shoulders relax.

"Seriously? Don't play dumb with me, Dave, I know you're not. You heard her when I arrived earlier. Your mother decided that even though I am gay, she still isn't comfortable with having me sleep in a room with four girls. It's her house, and it makes her more comfortable, so of course I'm not going to object."

"Oh," Dave said. Then the situation seemed to catch up with him abruptly. "You heard me playing." His face turned red. Kurt offered a tentative smile.

"Yes. You sounded quite good actually. Why—" The question died on his lips as Dave threw him a slightly panicked, warning look. He was about to ask why Dave had never tried out for Glee Club, but he was fairly certain he already knew the answer, and Dave obviously didn't want to be asked. So he skipped ahead to something much harder.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Dave fell, almost dramatically, back onto his bed and rubbed his face with one large hand, as if trying to rub the uncomfortable expression off.

"Seriously, Kurt? You're going to bring that up?"

"Yes." Emboldened by Dave's lack of aggression thus far, the smaller boy moved into the room, sitting gingerly on the foot of the bed, hands pressed together between his knees, and looking at Dave expectantly.

The older boy sat up with a sigh, bringing his face only a foot or so away from Kurt. Opening his eyes, his pained expression went abruptly blank at the sudden proximity. Kurt looked down at his lap, but the defensive set of his shoulders told Dave clearly that he was still waiting for an answer. He sighed again.

"I don't know. I just…you just...I don't know."

"Is it because you think I'm beautiful?" Kurt asked shyly, never taking his eyes off his hands. "You said you did…is that why?"

Dave was silent. Kurt still waited, but the silence stretched so long that he finally looked up, to see that Dave was now the one looking at his hands.

"I don't know why I said that to you," the older boy said quietly.

"I have a theory," said Kurt quickly, before he could stop himself. Dave looked at him and raised an eyebrow again. Taking a deep breath, he rushed through it as fast as he could, slurring the words together.

"Becauseyou'regayandyoulikeme."

Dave's brow furrowed. "I'm not…I'm not like you, Kurt." This time, Kurt scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning to Dave with his bitch face fully on.

"Oh please, Dave. You can act on it, but you can't own up to it? What's the point? The least you can do is admit it, and then we can get whatever  _this_ is out of our systems."

"Fine," Dave snapped. "I—I'm gay." His face was very red. It was the first time he'd said it out loud to someone else. "And…I think you're beautiful. I like you. I—"

Suddenly, he found himself unable to talk, and not just because his mouth was occupied. Kurt Hummel was kissing him. And he didn't think he could remember how to form words anymore. Kurt Hummel was kissing him, leaning over and pressing their lips together, his hand on Dave's chest to keep his balance. And Dave wasn't even sure he could remember how to breathe anymore.

He forgot everything, and reached up to place a warm, large hand on Kurt's face, fingers resting against his temples and palm covering his flushed cheek, pulling him gently closer and deepening their kiss at the same time. He thought his heart would actually burst right through his chest when Kurt responded by tangling a hand in his hair and coming up onto his knees to press closer to him. Dave let out a muffled, throaty sound that was so needy it was almost embarrassing. He felt Kurt's palms against the sides of his face, tightening to hold him there as if he thought Dave might pull away at any moment.

Dave had no intention whatsoever of doing anything that would end this moment. He didn't pull away, he didn't push forward; he kissed Kurt back, and enthusiastically, but he held his face gently and tasted his lips, his tongue, the insides of his mouth carefully, moving slowly, trying to savor each moment and not scare the other boy into backing away. He was not going to show Kurt how much this meant to him. He was not going to do anything that would cause Kurt to fix him with those terrified eyes and run away again.

Kurt, for his part, was having about a thousand more thoughts per second than his brain was capable of processing.

 _What am I doing, oh God, what did I_ do?  _Why is he kissing me? Oh my God,_ I'm  _kissing_ him.  _I kissed him first, and now he's kissing me back, and oh God this is bad, this is wrong, this is the most monumentally screwed up thing I've ever done, what was I_ thinking _coming in here? But oh God…I don't want to stop. I don't want him to stop, I never want this to_ stop….

He pressed closer into Dave's body, leaning against him, bending to the line's of the larger boy's body and grasping his shoulders, never letting their lips break contact. Dave was  _everywhere…_ he was heat and soapy smell and damp hair beneath Kurt's grasping fingers as they moved up to hold him in the kiss again, and Kurt couldn't stop the high, breathy moan that escaped into Dave's mouth.

Dave's resolve cracked. His careful kisses grew hard, desperate, and his hands moved from their gentle resting place against Kurt's cheeks to press against his back, holding him where he had leaned so close to Dave. Unfortunately, this overbalanced the two of them, and he fell backwards, Kurt whimpering as the soft impact jarred their lips apart. He opened his eyes and stared down into Dave's flushed face, wide aquamarine eyes meeting unfathomable hazel ones as both tried to catch their breath.

"What…"

"Don't, David," said Kurt softly. He didn't move from where he was. He just stared down into Dave's face, searching for something in his eyes. After a moment, he withdrew, sitting back on his knees at the end of Dave's bed. Dave sat up, heart still struggling to return to its normal pace, and restrained himself from grabbing the boy and kissing him again.

"So…you're gay." Kurt finally spoke. Dave just nodded.

"And you like me?" Another nod.

"You think I'm beautiful, and that me being different is a good thing?" Nod.

"And obviously your parents don't have a problem with gay people. So, why all the slushies? Why all the locker-checks?"

Dave looked down at his hands, his heart finding its regular rhythm in time to plummet into his feet. But Kurt reached forward and laid a delicate hand comfortingly on his ankle.

"I'm just trying to understand, here, David. I know you haven't done anything to hurt me in a long time. I just want to understand why it was necessary in the first place."  _I'm just as lost here as you are, and I'm trying to figure out whether the way I'm starting to feel about you is really as screwed up as I fear it is._

Dave just looked at him. He completely understood the phrase "at a loss for words." How could he explain his messed-up non-logic? It wasn't like he'd had a specific goal or a plan. He'd just seen and felt and he hadn't really thought at all, he'd just  _done_ things and it had ended up here. And the truth was, although he  _had_ worried about what would happen if his parents found out how he felt about Kurt, and he had definitely worried how his friends at school would react, all of that theoretical negativity paled in comparison to the disgust and horror he'd seen in Kurt's face after he'd kissed him in that locker room. The kiss. That was as good a place to start as any, right?

"Um…when I kissed you." Dave stopped and licked his dry lips, trying to think of how to put it. Kurt didn't betray any emotions, just watched him, sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed, head cocked to one side like a puppy, looking so perfectly adorable that it  _hurt._ Dave's mouth ached, and he couldn't stop his gaze from lingering on Kurt's lips as he talked.

"Look…when I did that…I'm sure it seemed like something out of nowhere. But it wasn't…it was something…um…" He mumbled something Kurt couldn't make out.

"Dave? I can't understand you if you mumble." Dave flashed him a look that was annoyed, but it only made Kurt smile at the boy's awkwardness.

"Dave Karofsky, you're blushing!" His delighted exclamation only made Dave color up more, and stare stonily at Kurt until he looked contrite and scooted closer.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to laugh at you, it's just…well, it's nice. To see you blushing." Now it was Kurt turning red, looking down at his hands as if they were of vital interest. "I like thinking I can make someone blush."

 _Someone,_ Dave thought, with only a little bitterness. It wasn't like he expected anything more.  _Someone, but not me. Get this out of our systems, he said. That's all that kiss was, I guess._ He pushed the painful thought aside and shifted on the bed, scooting backward to prop his back against the headboard.  _Might as well get this over with._ He motioned for Kurt to come sit beside him. The boy raised an eyebrow, but he complied, lounging gracefully next to Dave, thin legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Dave pulled his attention away from the graceful arches of Kurt's feet—even his  _feet_ were perfect, for fuck's sake!—and glanced at the boy's face. Then he took a deep breath, and began to speak.

"I'm not brave like you. I've never been brave about anything, ever. I've always been big, and clumsy, and goofy. You know  _The Jungle Book_?"

"The Disney movie?" Kurt looked at him incredulously.

"Yeah, the Disney movie. What? I was little once," he said defensively, before relaxing again and continuing. "I always hated that movie, though. Because I never felt like the little kid, I never felt happy and light and silly like that. I felt like the damn bear, the stupid one that makes jokes and doesn't take anything seriously enough. That's what I always felt like…the comic relief, I guess. It didn't help that I…er, developed…earlier than everyone else. Hudson used to laugh at me for being hairy and chubby."

Kurt looked horrified. "Finn…bullied you? For how you looked?"  _Oh my God, I must have hurt him so badly with the things I said in the locker room…_

Dave was shaking his head. "Nah, Fancy, don't get the wrong idea. Finn teased me, but he never did one-tenth of the damage I must have done to you. For one thing," and here his voice and his eyes dropped, and Kurt could have sworn he saw the shine of unshed tears for a moment. "He never left any bruises."

"Dave—" the older boy cut him off with a hand placed awkwardly on his arm.

"No, don't feel bad for me, don't even think about it. You didn't do anything to deserve the way I've treated you. I was awful to you. I won't lie and say I know exactly  _why_ I did it. There wasn't really a time when I sat down and said, 'Yes, I am a closet-case that's secretly in love with Kurt Hummel, who is everything I want and want to be and can never have or be, and so I will make his life a living hell because of this.'" He took a deep breath, not used to long speeches, and entirely missed the look Kurt was giving him, unaware of what he'd let slip for the time being.

"I'm sure anyone would look at this situation and see those reasons, but I never actually sat down and decided any of that. And it doesn't really matter  _why_ I did it. The point is, I'm really sorry for all of it."

Kurt looked up at Dave's hazel eyes, at the way they seemed to be analyzing every inch of his face, at the way they met and bored into his, and he believed every word.

 _Well,_ he thought,  _this changes things. Wait..._ does  _it change things? Oh God, things are definitely going to change._


	17. Steal A Kiss

"Fuck!" Melodie swore loudly as she smacked her locker in frustration.  _The damn thing gets jammed every other day!_ She attempted, once more, to input the combination, huffing angrily the entire time as she muttered to herself about defective equipment and cheapskates in the legislature allotting too many funds away from public education. Right at that moment, she  _really_ missed her private school.

Until, of course, Sam Evans suddenly appeared by her side. He grinned and leaned against the locker, watching her struggle. She pretended not to know he was there, but her mouth twitched a little in what might have been a repressed smile. Whatever it was, it died quickly as her combination failed once again to open her locker. "Gaaaaah," she let out angrily, propping her head against the cool metal of the locker door. Sam chuckled, earning himself a signature Melodie-glare.

"Don't just stand there chuckling, Evans. You're a jock, can't you…I dunno…beat it up or something?" Her utterly defeated tone ruined her attempt at severity. Sam just laughed harder.

"Maybe you should glare at it…that works on everyone else, right?" He snickered when she smacked him on the arm, just a little too hard to be entirely playful. The letter jacket absorbed most of the impact anyway.

"Here," he said, moving between her and the locker. "What's your combination?"

"3, 22, 11," she said dully. She'd already tried the lock three or four times, so she didn't see the harm in giving him the combination. After all, it wasn't like  _anyone_ could open the damn thing without cutting the lock off, so keeping her combo secret wasn't exactly a priority—

"There you go." Melodie stared. The locker was open.

"How…how?" She said dumbly. Then she went on without waiting for an answer. "If I find anything missing from my locker—or anything in my locker that shouldn't be there—your ass is mine, Evans."

"Fair enough," he said. "What're you doing tonight?"

She pretended to consider it for a minute. The English project was turned in, their academic partnership was dissolved, and no more kisses had been stolen…and yet Sam insisted on asking her to hang out at least once or twice a week. And like an idiot, she'd started saying yes whenever she didn't already have plans. Like tonight. But she wasn't sure she should say yes tonight. Because she'd meant what she said: Melodie was forced into exile in Lima, she missed her friends like crazy ( _even though they don't seem to miss you, they haven't even tried to get in touch with you since you got here,_ she tried very hard not to add to herself), and she had no intention of making a bunch of new friends just so she could miss them when she was back where she belonged. But with Sam…and, if she were honest with herself, with Kurt and Mercedes, Tina, Rachel, and even with Dave sometimes…the lines were so easy to blur between "acquaintances whose company I vaguely enjoy but don't need" and "friends I really like and will probably miss like crazy next year." And with Sam it was even worse: the lines between "friend" and "guy I really could like" were difficult to see at all sometimes. Especially when the big idiot had leaned over that day and kissed her.

_What the hell is wrong with him? He's dating the freaking head cheerleader, what is he doing messing around with me in the first place?_

"Uh…Melodie? Still with us?" She started and focused her eyes on him. He was still waiting for an answer. She grinned apologetically.

"Actually, Sam, I promised Aunt Gina I'd help her clean up around the house tonight, and I have a good bit of homework. Maybe some other time?" She lied smoothly, but she thought she saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes…and disappointment. But he just shrugged and grinned that slow, lopsided grin at her.

"Sure," he said. "I'll see you later I guess." And he was gone.

Melodie sighed. This was getting a little complicated for her liking.

* * *

Quinn Fabray was the luckiest girl in the world. Well, except for the whole getting knocked up the one and only time she'd ever had sex thing. But other than that, she knew she was incredibly blessed. She had naturally bouncy, shiny blonde hair, she was pretty, smart and considered herself relatively sane…for a girl. Everything she'd ever seen told her that she was the girl who got it all: the perfect prom night, the wonderful, gorgeous football player for a boyfriend, the admiration of her peers, and the happy ending.

_So, why the hell do all of these idiotic boys keep leaving me for the geeky, dysfunctional girls-next-door?_

She absolutely couldn't wrap her mind around it. Sure, occasionally the quirky, outspoken, offbeat girl got the guy in movies. But they were  _movies._ Their job was to present a fantasy to comfort all those girls who were never going to be pretty and popular in real life, and even then there always had to be some kind of makeover transformation to make the whole thing believable. In the real world, she knew she was supposed to get the quarterback. She'd probably never get out of Lima, Ohio, but she'd rule her little kingdom from a comfortable house with pretty kids, and a successful husband, who had been the high school quarterback. That was how it worked out. Right? She'd messed things up with Finn, but she was getting a second chance with Sam, and she wasn't going to screw it up. She'd been doing everything right. Finn had just been a fluke, a fluke caused by Puck and too many wine coolers. Right?

Quinn could understand how she had been upstaged by tiny, shrill, annoying, self-absorbed Rachel Berry, who dressed like a Build-A-Bear workshop had thrown up all over a Catholic school girl. But for the life of her, she couldn't fathom how she was losing Sam to a weird girl who listened to angry chick rock and had a mouth filthier than a pro wrestler talking smack, who wore ridiculous yellow glasses and hideous green sneakers, weird slashed-up t-shirts, and who had hair that looked like she'd cut it with a pair of meat shearers and dyed it blindfolded. It was incomprehensible.

She advanced on Sam after Glee practice, stopping him just outside the choir room and not even bothering to check whether anyone was listening. She was too angry to care.

"Okay, what is going on? And don't tell me it's nothing, because like you, I'm not nearly as dumb as my good looks and hair color would suggest." He gave her a look that was half-exasperated, as if he'd known this was coming, and half-guilty, like he'd known exactly  _why_ it was.

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about," he began, trying to avoid a fight. She jumped in.

"Oh don't you? I'll give you a hint: it's short, chubby, and under the delusion that Raggedy Ann is a fashion statement." Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Okay, first of all, Melodie is not chubby." Quinn winced. She was expecting denial, or even an apology. An angry outburst for accusing him of cheating, maybe, but she wasn't expecting him to  _defend_ the girl. "And secondly, it's called t-shirt surgery, and there's a whole underground social movement based around it." Melodie had told him all about her obsession with cutting up clothes one afternoon while they were trying to sit through the really horrible new M. Night Shyamalan movie. "Third, she's my friend and you're my girlfriend, but that doesn't mean I'm going to listen to you badmouth her like that. I thought you were a bigger person than that, Quinn."

He started to walk away. Quinn stared at him. She felt tears swimming behind her eyes, and there was a brief struggle between anger and profound hurt. She'd never felt so…dismissed. Her eyes narrowed at the thought. No one dismissed Quinn Fabray. She shouted at his back.

"Fine. Walk away. I should have known you'd  _defend_ her over me." He didn't turn, or acknowledge her in any way. She stomped after him, refusing to be ignored, and grabbed his arm.

"Answer me!"

He pulled his arm from her grasp and turned to face her. She blanched at the look on his face. Bored, like he was done and just sitting through the credits to be polite. Abruptly, the hurt upstaged the anger again. She really liked Sam. It wasn't just because he was good-looking, or popular. Sure, she didn't get his weird nerdy obsessions, but she liked how sincere he was. She liked how sweet he was, and how it seemed to come naturally to him, unlike other guys who turned it on in the hopes of getting some. She just didn't like being ditched every other day for some random geeky girl he'd had one English project with.  _And one dance at the wedding._ She ignored that thought. One dance. He was being friendly. This was just a fight like any other. But it was about Melodie Bloom. Why did that little freak have the ability to make them fight?

"What is it about her? You're not partners anymore, why do you still hang out with her?" Her tone was still truculent, but it had lost some of its volume. Sam, however, was still plenty mad. He looked down at her—Sam didn't glare, really, he just fixed you with this piercing _look_ that made you want to shrink through a wall—and his tone of voice was low, but intense.

"I hang out with her because I like her, okay? She's fun. She's funny. She doesn't make me feel like a complete  _idiot_ every time I open my mouth and let slip that I like sci-fi movies, or know weird things like how to speak Na'vi. She never makes me feel dumb or uncomfortable, or like I'm embarrassing her. She has no problem being herself, and she has no ulterior motive in being around me."

"Sam—" Quinn began, but he wouldn't let her finish.

"No…I don't want to hear it, okay? I'm not your boyfriend anymore." The tears won the battle, and Quinn hated herself for crying in front of him. But she couldn't help it. She tried to stop him as he turned to go, but he shook her off, shaking his head.

"It's like what you told me that first time I got slushied. What's the point of being popular if you can't do what you love? Dating Melodie wouldn't make me popular, but at least I'd be happy, I'd be having fun.  _If_  she'd date me, she won't, just so you know. She doesn't like me that way. And I don't like you that way, not anymore."

He was walking away, turning the corner…gone. And suddenly, Quinn had the bizarre desire to go back to the first day they'd met and smile when he told her she had pretty eyes, even if it was in some weird fake language from a nerdy movie. She wanted to laugh at his awful celebrity impersonations. She wanted to let him go ahead when he leaned in to steal what could have been their first kiss. And now it was just too late.

* * *

Melodie felt frozen in place, just inside the choir room doors. She'd stayed behind to practice; she was planning on challenging Rachel for a solo and she wanted the piano to herself for a little while. But then she'd heard her name, and gone to see who was calling her. It wasn't until she was at the door that she realized it wasn't someone talking  _to_ her, but  _about_ her. And she hadn't been able to help overhearing.

And now she couldn't seem to remember how to leave. She felt like Brittany.

She listened as Sam defended her, shocked that he remembered  _anything_ she'd said about t-shirt surgery. She heard Quinn responding angrily, and then she felt her heart skipping beats as Sam showed the one thing she'd felt he was lacking…the one thing, honestly, that had made it possible, thus far, for her to keep herself at a semi-safe distance: a spine.

"I hang out with her because I like her, okay? She's fun. She's funny. She doesn't make me feel like a complete  _idiot_ every time I open my mouth and let slip that I like sci-fi movies, or know weird things like how to speak Na'vi. She never makes me feel dumb or uncomfortable or like I'm embarrassing her. She has no problem being herself, and she has no ulterior motive in being around me."

"Sam—" came Quinn's voice, sounding slightly choked with tears. Melodie desperately wanted to make her feet  _move._ She felt like a creep standing and listening to their fight. And she felt like an awful person for the way it made her feel. It wasn't that she hated Quinn or wished anything bad on her. But listening to Sam defend her, Melodie, weirdo that she knew she was, over beautiful, popular, head cheerleader Quinn Fabray…it was something new. It felt…well…it felt awful. And yet incredible.

_He's…he's picking me over her._

The voice that usually would tell her to take a step back, re-establish the emotional distance, and think about this for a second was suspiciously silent.

"Dating Melodie wouldn't make me popular, but at least I'd be happy, I'd be having fun.  _If_  she'd date me, she won't, just so you know." Melodie flinched at the ring of regret in Sam's voice. He was dumping his girlfriend because he liked Melodie, even though she'd blown him off and basically thrown his feelings back in his face. "She doesn't like me that way. And I don't like you that way, not anymore."

Melodie wasn't sure how long she stood there after that, waiting for Quinn to leave. She knew the girl had gone with the sound of her sobbing faded off down the hallway. A part of her wanted to make the girl feel better…not that she was the person Quinn would want to see at the moment.  _More like the_ last  _person,_ she thought guiltily.

As soon as she was sure the coast was clear, she forced her feet to move again, to carry her as fast as they could out to Dave's car. He was waiting for her, impatient and irritated that she'd taken so long, but she didn't respond to his grumbling. She didn't sing in the car on the way home, either, and she could feel him sending her worried glances. As soon as they reached the house, she went straight to her room, closed the door, and threw herself face down onto her bed. She had some thinking to do.

* * *

Kurt knew that this was every kind of screwed up imaginable. In fact, he was convinced that ten years from now, he'd be sitting in a therapist's office relaying the events of the last few weeks. What made him feel really awful is that somewhere, in another therapist's office, Dave Karofsky would probably be doing the same thing.

But for now, his brain couldn't yell loud enough to convince the rest of his body that this was sufficient reason to stop what he was doing, to take a step back, to run away. Because whatever else he might be, Dave Karofsky was also an  _incredible_ kisser.

He pressed closer, idly noticing how it shouldn't be this warm even in a cramped little closet. He'd gone a full week after their awkward, impromptu make-out session without talking to Dave. He'd declined invitations to go to the mall with Melodie and Mercedes. He was pretty sure they were worried about him; when had he  _ever_ turned down an opportunity to go shopping? But he knew if Melodie were there, Dave would be as well, and he needed to think, and he couldn't  _think_ with the other boy in such a close proximity. Sitting right across the table from him sipping on his coffee, laughing at whatever silly argument Mercedes and Melodie were having, or raising his eyebrows, or just looking happy and normal and  _not_ like a closeted bully…Kurt wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from coming across the table to kiss him. And that would certainly raise some questions. Especially if Dave kissed him back…

Like he was doing now. Kurt tried not to make any noise. He was fairly sure everyone was either gone for the day or engrossed in some extracurricular activity or other, but you never knew when a teacher or a random student would just wander down the hall. And hear Kurt moaning into David's mouth. And decide to investigate.

Somehow, that possibility just made the whole situation that much hotter. His breathing, already so shaky he was almost rattling, caught in his throat, and he pulled back to look into Dave's eyes.

Unfocused hazel met wide blue-green-grey, and locked there. His arms still held Kurt up (or he would have fallen over), but his lips released him (much to his disappointment), and he just looked at him, shoulders tensed as if waiting for a rebuff. It broke Kurt's heart, just a little.

"I'm the one who dragged you in here, Dave," he said softly, face coloring a little. "I'm not going to shove you away." Dave gave him a small smile.

"Can't blame a guy for preparing for the worst, right?" His voice was breathless, but Kurt heard the note of inevitability, or resignation. It reminded him of the way Dave had looked at him at the wedding, just before Kurt had run away.

"Is that the worst that could happen here?" Kurt's face colored up even more as the words just slipped out. He hadn't meant to say anything. His normally perfect control seemed to just disappear where Dave Karofsky was concerned. The other boy drew back from him a little, still holding Kurt with his arms and his gaze, and appeared to consider.

"Yes," he finally said quietly. "I think it is."

"Worse than if someone caught us in here?" Kurt challenged, and immediately regretted it. He didn't want to know the answer. Dave's gaze slid from his, off to the side, and he loosened his hold, arms dropping to his sides and shoulders drawing up defensively. Kurt wanted to take it back. He didn't want to know what Dave's body language was telling him.

"I'm sorry. I'm just scared." Dave's voice was barely audible. "I don't know what will happen…how things'll change if people know. I'm not ready for anything to change. My life isn't the most comfortable thing but I like it."

Kurt just nodded, a lump in his throat. He tried to talk around it, closing his eyes against the urge to cry.

"So the other night…this…it doesn't change anything?" He  _hated_ how girlish his voice sounded when it cracked at "change"—suddenly he was held again, kissed again. The sob he'd been holding back was lost on Dave's lips. Then they were gone, moving to his ear as the other boy held him, and Kurt just let him, and listened.

"It changes everything. I'm terrified, but everything's still different. Hell, I'm terrified  _because_ it's so different. A week ago the only person I'd ever admitted it to was myself, and now I've said it out loud, to you, and that makes it real. And you've kissed me, and  _that_ makes it real. I meant what I said." He pulled back and grasped Kurt's narrow shoulders with his large hands, crouching at eye-level with the smaller boy.

"I really like you. I think about you all the time. I won't do anything to hurt you anymore. I won't push you around or throw slushies in your face. I won't make fun of you. But I can't be like you. I'm not that brave, okay? Not yet, anyway."

Kurt stared into Dave's eyes.  _Not yet,_ he was saying. Not yet wasn't the same thing as never. Not yet implied there would be a someday. He felt a smile spreading across his face. For once, the voice in his head telling him that this was sick, this was wrong, this was warped and twisted and  _not_ his fairytale romance, was quiet. He leaned forward in Dave's arms and placed a quick, soft kiss against his lips.

"I can understand that," he whispered. "I can be patient." He couldn't fight a smile at the surprised, delighted look that came across Dave's face at his words.

* * *

It was Friday. Thank God. Someone should have warned him never to break up with someone in the middle of the week. Quinn had been alternating between shooting him death glares and watery, sad glances for two days, and he didn't know how much more he could take. He felt awful, but at the same time he was relieved. Keeping Quinn happy had been exhausting. Of course, now he was single, hopelessly crushing on a girl who didn't want anything to do with him, and enduring her stony silence as well as his ex's perpetual scowling.

The Melodie thing was really getting to him, too. She hadn't spoken to him since Wednesday afternoon in Glee. He wasn't sure what he'd done to piss her off, but it must have been pretty bad, because she wouldn't even  _look_ at him. She sat on the other side of the room in English and in Glee, didn't respond the one time he'd tried to get her to talk in the hallway, and hadn't answered any of his calls and text messages.

 _I didn't kiss her, so what's the matter this time?_ He thought as he shoved his history book into his locker, forcing the thing shut.  _I really need to clean this thing out. Why is Melodie ignoring me? Is she seriously that pissed I know her locker combination?_

He was really confused. A second later, he was even more so.

Shutting his locker, he turned and nearly fell over. Melodie had been standing right behind him, apparently, being completely silent. He slumped against the lockers.

"Don't  _do_ that," he said weakly. She ignored him, and grabbed his arm, and then she was dragging him off somewhere with a thunderous expression on her face that was truly frightening.  _Oh God…she's going to murder me and bury me on the football field. I knew she was nuts, she has to be, she's related to Karofsky…_

She kicked open the door to an empty classroom. The same one they'd talked in once. Shoving him inside, she closed it and pressed her back against the door, lips pressed tightly together, arms stiffly at her sides, just looking at him trying to get his bearings. After a silent moment, he just settled himself against one of the desks, crossed his arms, and waited, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She was on him before he knew what was happening. And these weren't the teasing schoolgirl kisses he shared with Quinn. She crossed the room in three bounds—impressive, considering how short she was—and practically leaped onto him, grabbing the collar of his letterman jacket and pulling his face down to her height, kissing him so hard he was sure he'd have bruises. He grasped her by the arms in an attempt to regain some balance, and reluctantly— _very_ reluctantly—pulled away, looking down at her with wide eyes.

"Uhh…mind telling me what that was all about?" His voice was a little breathless, with surprise or simple lack of air, he wasn't totally sure. She scowled at him, but it almost looked more like a pout.

"I heard what you said to Quinn yesterday," she said bluntly, opting for perfect honesty. He let go of her and stepped back, looking embarrassed.

"You heard that? How?" It was Melodie's turn to be embarrassed.

"I was in the choir room, and I thought I heard my name. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just…and then you defended me…I didn't wanna interrupt and then you guys were both so upset and I thought seeing me would only make it worse…I…did you really mean it?" She was looking down at her hands, babbling at him, and he was turning redder by the second as he realized how much she'd heard.  _Like, the whole thing._

"Yeah…I meant it," he said sheepishly. Her head snapped up, and he found that as expressive as her face usually was, he couldn't read the look there now. He ducked his head and spoke to the floor. "Look, I know you said you didn't want anything like that. I didn't mean for you to hear any of it, I just wasn't gonna let her tear you down like that when you weren't even around to defend yourself."

Melodie stepped forward and ducked down to force him to meet her eyes again.

"Hey…Sam-I-am…were you checked out a minute ago? What part of me dragging you in here and attacking your face didn't you understand?"

Realization dawned slowly, no doubt tempered by wondering if she were bipolar and whether he wanted to deal with all her crazy. But then he smiled.

"So…are you saying…"

"Yeah. I am. I like you back, Sam Evans. Date me? I promise I'll talk Na'vi to you every day."

At that, Sam's face broke into a broad grin, and he grabbed her hand and leaned down to steal a kiss. She let him, and she kissed him back. And all the while, she tried to ignore the funny, almost-nauseous lurch in her stomach, the tense feeling in her shoulders that made her want to run, and the voice in her head that had chosen the worst possible come back, telling her this was all a very big mistake.


	18. Gay Messiah

In the weeks following Kurt and Dave's impromptu make-out session in the janitor's closet, Azimio Adams began to notice a disturbing new trend of changes in the McKinley High social dynamic. For one thing, Quinn Fabray and Sam Evans were barely speaking to one another, and Sam seemed to be entirely engrossed in the company of that weird new girl who was related to Dave. Who, by the way, no longer suggested slushie facials or made jokes about the Glee losers. Suddenly, the sound of a body being thrown against the lockers disappeared as Dave was no longer interested in his personal vendetta against the fairy kid. And weirdest of all, his friend was suddenly hanging out with some of the Glee losers. Like, a lot.

The first incident occurred at lunch. Azimio was digging into his pizza when he saw Dave arrive, and motioned him over. But Dave didn't seem to see him. He was clutching his backpack, worrying his lip with his teeth in a nervous way as his eyes scanned the cafeteria. Then his face—kind of  _lit up_ a little. And he was walking away from Azimio, whose arm was still extended in a wave. Following Dave's movements with his eyes, the jock let his pizza fall to his plate in shock when he saw where Dave seemed to be headed.

_Startin' shit with the Gleeks during lunch, dude? You're fucking crazy, you're so gonna get caught._

But Dave was dropping his backpack on an empty seat, sliding into another one next to his freak cousin, and grinning at something the girl Asian Gleek was saying. The faces of the rest of the table were a bit surprised, but not properly fearful. Dave answered her with a smile on his face. Azimio watched in amazement as Hummel, the Asian girl, Mercedes Jones, the freak cousin, and that annoying Rachel chick all laughed.

He shook his head. Something  _weird_ was going on. And in the following days, that hypothesis was just confirmed. Dave still sat with him at lunch sometimes, but sometimes he sat with the Gleeks. The lack of body checks and slushies continued. Once, he even thought he saw Dave standing at Hummel's locker, smiling down at the boy and talking to him…just talking. Like they were friends. When Azimio tried to talk to him about it, he just shrugged and said it was all his cousin's doing.

"Man, what does she have on you? Did she video you jerkin' off or something?" Dave had choked on his milk and laughed at that.

"What? No. Don't worry 'bout it, Az. Me and Mel have an understanding as long as she's here. That's it."

Azimio was skeptical. But he just shrugged, and sat back and watched through narrowed eyes.

* * *

_You. Me. Friday Night. Coffee and a movie?_

Kurt smiled down at the text message. As always, he felt that subtle lift in his mood that accompanied even the slightest interaction with Blaine Anderson. Keeping the phone under the desk so the teacher wouldn't see, he quickly typed out a response and sent it.

_Absolutely. Your town or mine?_

* * *

"So, how are things at Degrassi High?" Blaine grinned at Kurt over his latte. Kurt just rolled his eyes at the curly-haired boy, shaking his head at the ridiculous nickname. He supposed, considering all the drama, it was rather apt, but he was still coming to terms with the fact that someone as sophisticated and well-mannered as Blaine Anderson indulged in an overwrought teenage melodrama like  _Degrassi: The Next Generation_.

"Things are fine," he said a bit too smoothly. Blaine raised an eyebrow, and Kurt cursed himself silently. Bitchy he could do, but blasé? Never had been his thing. He sighed and leaned forward a bit conspiratorially.

"Blaine…how many guys have you dated?" Blaine looked taken aback by the question. He considered Kurt for a moment before answering.

"Honestly? I've never really been anyone's boyfriend before." That had Kurt's eyebrows reaching for his hairline. Confident, out-and-proud,  _gorgeous_ Blaine had never had a boyfriend? Even in Ohio, how was that possible? Blaine's confidence, his surety regarding who he was and who he was attracted to, his aura of wisdom and experience, had all worked together to draw Kurt in over the last few weeks as they'd texted and talked and hung out more and more often. He wasn't sure if this revelation—that his own personal Gay Messiah had never actually dated anyone—made him feel better or worse.

"Oh," was all he said. Blaine smiled at him, a bit sheepishly but mostly sympathetic.

"Kurt, I am really good at acting as if I know exactly what I'm doing. And when it comes to other people's lives and problems, distance gives me some perspective. But when it comes to my own life, and my own problems? I don't know what I'm doing. I'm completely clueless, actually."

Kurt grinned a little sadly, feeling a swell of affection for the boy in front of him.

"So, from your place of distance and perspective…" he paused, taking a deep breath. He could trust Blaine. "What would you do if you liked someone…or thought you did…and they were all wrong for you? They were the worst possible choice you could make, someone no one in your life would accept, someone you had trouble even justifying your attraction to?"

Blaine's eyes bored into Kurt's, his beautiful face clouded with concern. "Is the guy straight?"

"What? No! I mean…" Kurt sighed heavily and spoke mostly to his coffee cup as he talked, only glancing up at Blaine sporadically, as if afraid to see the other boy's reaction. "As far as anyone else knows, he  _is_ straight. But I know better. He…he kissed me once. Out of the blue, while I was yelling at him. And we've kissed a couple of times since then…and he told me he's gay. He likes me. But he's not ready to come out. He's terrified of admitting it to anyone else. And even if he did, I'm pretty sure everyone I know would throw a fit. My dad…"

"I thought your dad was fine with you being gay?"

"Oh, he is. He's been so supportive. That's the problem." Kurt was looking into Blaine's face now, his voice ratcheting up an octave on that last sentence, his expression more than a little desperate.

"I am…confused," Blaine said after a moment. Kurt's expression collapsed on itself, his eyes closing and his brow furrowing. He took a deep breath through his nose and then blinked furiously, looking at nothing, just trying to hold back the frustrated tears. Blaine was the first person he'd really tried to talk to about this. He'd given Finn the bare bones, the actual events…but Kurt's own feelings about what was going on? That was a different matter entirely, something he hadn't shared with anything up till now. And talking about it was just bringing all the frustration to the surface.

Blaine watched his friend's face, really concerned now. He had only known Kurt for a few weeks, but he had already caught on to a few essential facts. First, Kurt Hummel was one of the bravest, toughest people he'd ever met. He let all the abuse he endured just roll off his back like it was nothing, like it was inconsequential in the face of the undeniable fact that he was amazing and destined for better things. He looked down pityingly at all the little people who tormented and teased him, letting them have their fun while they could because he  _knew_ he was going to be bigger and do greater things than all of them put together someday. Second, Kurt Hummel was an incredibly sensitive, compassionate, and loving person. He was good to the core, romantic and idealistic by nature, kind by instinct. He was what most religions preached and tried to train into their followers with promises of paradise and threats of eternal damnation, and he did it all without believing in either. Third, he wasn't afraid to speak his mind to anyone, about anything. He was first and foremost himself, and proud of it, refusing to hide it even a little bit, for even a second, even to save himself some pain and difficulty.

And finally, Kurt Hummel was fragile. He wasn't weak by any means, but he wasn't invincible either. His pride held him up against the cruelty of others and his bitchy superiority allowed him to endure it day after day, but that soft, essential goodness he possessed took a hit every time, shoving itself further and further beneath the other traits, trying to protect itself from the pain and still keep from suffocating; it was an impossible balancing act.

Whatever was going on, it had shaken his composure and hurt his pride, and that scared, sweet boy was showing through, looking anywhere but at Blaine as he tried to fight his tears. It hurt to watch.

"Kurt…" Blaine's voice was thick with worry and some other, dangerous, protective emotion he tried not to examine too closely as he leaned across the table and laid a comforting hand on the boy's arm. "What happened? Start from the beginning."

Kurt smiled at him, laughing a little through his almost-tears.

"The beginning? Wow, okay. I hope you have awhile." Blaine nodded his encouragement, and Kurt shifted forward again in his seat a little, trying to decide where to start.

"Okay," he said slowly. "I suppose it all started last year, the day Mr. Ryerson, the old music teacher, got fired…"

* * *

"Wow. Okay. That's…just…my God, Kurt. That's really…" Blaine wondered where his normally perfect articulation had gone. Kurt was staring into his coffee cup again like it held the secrets of the universe. The story had been a long one, and rather emotionally involved: the Glee club, the bullying, and the escalation of the bullying, the indifference and casual, unintentional cruelty of his friends, all the stuff with his stepbrother.  _And I thought_ my  _public school experience was messed up._

"So let me get this straight: this guy bullied you incessantly, both verbally and physically. He threatened you with violence for being gay. And then when you called him on it one day, he kissed you. And  _then_ his crazy cousin moved into town, threw you in a social situation together outside of school, and you became friends. And he started just ignoring you at school. And then you danced together, and made out in his bedroom…and now he's being nice to you at school, and you like each other, but he's not ready to be out."

Kurt gave him a withering look, but Blaine was glad of it. He seemed to be feeling better now that he'd gotten it all out.

"Yes, Blaine, you've managed to restate the bare facts without any of their epic proportions or tragic, ill-fated romance included. What on earth do I  _do?"_

Blaine thought for a moment before he spoke. When he did, his voice was careful.

"Kurt…this may not be what you want to hear right now, but...I think what you guys are doing is a bad idea for a lot of reasons." Kurt looked like he wanted to protest, but Blaine held up a hand. "No wait, just hear me out. This guy…he's not ready. He's barely able to even  _admit_ that he's gay. He can't really be a boyfriend to you. And what if, in the process of trying to conduct this secret romance you guys are flirting with—and don't get me wrong, I can completely see the appeal of the  _idea—_ you accidentally out him before he's ready for that? You'll end up resenting each other if you continue this way."

Kurt looked sadly at his hands. That's what he'd been thinking, but hearing it laid out by someone outside the situation made it real. And he really didn't want it to be real.

"Not to mention," Blaine continued, still being careful and trying to put it all as gently as possible, "Don't you think there's something a little...well, strange I guess…about falling so easily for someone who spent so much time treating you so badly?" Kurt's head snapped up, his eyes saying clearly that Blaine had touched a nerve. He tried to backtrack quickly.

"I'm not saying anything is wrong with you, Kurt. I'd never think that. I just think you should really look at this from the perspective of someone other than you and this guy. How would it look from the point of view of someone else that's seen how he's treated you for so long? Even if he's stopped and been nicer lately…it seems like a shaky foundation for the kind of trust you're putting into this."

Kurt couldn't disagree with anything Blaine said. He knew it was all completely true. Right on the mark, exactly what he'd been thinking, even. But half an hour later, as he drove home, he couldn't help but think there was something essential that he was missing, and that Blaine was missing as well. He arrived home still feeling frustrated and dissatisfied, and sat in his car for a moment, resting his head against his steering wheel and just…thinking.

 _Is Blaine right? Am I too willing to forgive him for all the things he did?_ Is  _there something wrong with me?_

His steering wheel had no answers.


	19. The Perfect Gift

Kurt opened his locker and froze, surprised. There, perched proudly on top of his history book, was a small figurine that he  _knew_ hadn't been there when he'd stowed his stuff before lunch. He couldn't stop the flush that came to his face as he reached out and picked it up, turning it over in his hand and trying desperately to reign in the goofy grin that was spreading from ear to ear.

It was a red Power Ranger.

* * *

Mercedes Jones cut her eyes at Kurt from across the room, taking in his vacant, blissful expression, flushed cheeks, and shining eyes. She was all sass and bluster on the outside, but Mercedes was an acute observer when it counted, and when it came to her friends, every detail counted. She had seen that look on Kurt's face before…when he'd been crushing on Finn. And she'd noticed it return whenever he spent time with Blaine Anderson, the dreamy hunk of curly-haired soloist from Dalton Academy. But lately she'd been noticing it at strange times: in the middle of the day at school, after one of their shopping trips, and occasionally at lunch. She wasn't sure what to make of it, but somehow she didn't think it had anything to do with Blaine.

Just then, she watched Kurt reach into his messenger bag and pull something out, keeping his hands under the table as he turned the object over and over in his hands, the dreamy smile never leaving his face. She turned her head a little, trying to see what the thing was without drawing Kurt's attention to the fact that she was being nosy.

It was an action figure. A red Power Ranger.

Oh.  _Oh._

* * *

It was the last day before school let out for Christmas break, and Dave was a bundle of nerves. He was eternally grateful for his teachers' pre-break apathy, because he couldn't concentrate on anything around him. His mind couldn't stop straying to the carefully wrapped present in his backpack, and wondering how he was going to give it to Kurt.

They hadn't kissed again since that day in the janitor's closet. They had talked, and hung out, and Dave had even been sitting with Kurt and the girls at lunch a lot recently. They were becoming like real friends, and he loved it. It made his day every time Kurt smiled at him, laughed at something he said. But he ached to reach out and grab Kurt's hand, to lean over and kiss him, and it twisted painfully in his gut every time the smaller boy got one of those mysterious text messages that made his whole face light up and left him in a giddy stupor for several minutes afterward. Kurt never said anything in front of him, but Dave knew that look. He was fairly certain it was how he looked at Kurt. He tried really hard not to think about the fact that Kurt obviously had a crush, and that the crush definitely wasn't him. He didn't want to know his competition, because he was sure knowing would just confirm that he, Dave, wasn't really in the running at all. He wanted to pretend for as long as possible that Kurt might return what he felt if he could ever just get his shit together and come out of the closet already.

So he was trying to be nice, buying Kurt a Christmas gift. That was something friends could do for each other, right? He didn't think Kurt had gotten him anything, and he didn't care either way. He'd seen it on one of the many shopping excursions he now joined Kurt, Melodie, and the rest of the "Single Ladies" for. It was an amazing color, something the store clerk called "[Paraiba](http://i1.jtv.com/loadimage.aspx?btype=.jpg&cgid=2738536&img=1&h=300&w=400)." Dave had looked that up; it was the color of a gemstone that was the same color, a perfect, enigmatic mix between blue and green that was so subtle you could never tell exactly which one it was. And there was just a tinge of gray undertone to the color. It was the exact, indescribable color of Kurt's eyes. And it was so soft to the touch. Dave had waited until the rest of them were distracted and bought it impulsively, not caring that it had cost him the equivalent of three weeks' allowance. He'd had some money saved for Christmas shopping anyway.

Only now, he couldn't seem to get up the courage to give it to the boy. What if Kurt thought it was overstepping somehow? Or what if he hated it? The boy was insanely fashion conscious and Dave didn't know the first thing about what was in style. He didn't think he could take seeing disappointment on Kurt's face, or worse: a forced smile and a 'thank' you at the pitiful attempt at a perfect gift. He knew he was over-analyzing, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to give Kurt a perfect Christmas gift, and at the time what had seemed like a great idea just seemed more and more stupid.

At the end of the day, Dave practically bolted for the parking lot, ignoring the sound of Azimio trying to get his attention in the hallway. He didn't stop, just kept going, putting as much distance between himself and school as he could, the parcel still in his bag, undelivered.

* * *

"Oh my God, Blaine, it's  _perfect!"_ Kurt was practically squealing with delight, holding up the present Blaine had given him and admiring it. It was just what he would have wanted, exactly the kind of thing he liked: it was a fabulous hat. Running to his mirror, Kurt placed it on his head and examined himself from every angle, noting how the color brought out the red undertones in his auburn hair. From behind him, Blaine chuckled.

"I'm glad you like it. And while I have you in such a good mood, I wanted to ask: do you have any special plans for New Year's?"

Kurt's heart skipped a beat, and he kept his voice and his stance casual, still pretending to look at himself in the mirror as he answered in his best casual tone, the words tossed carelessly over his shoulder.

"Nothing so far, although knowing Melodie and Mercedes, anything could come up."

Blaine had to laugh at that. He had never met Kurt's posse of "Single Ladies," but the boy talked about them often and drew a vibrant picture of what they were like. Blaine thought Melodie reminded him a bit of his little sister Nichole. Mercedes just sounded all kinds of terrifying if you got in her way.

"Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of those two," he said jokingly, holding up his hands as if in surrender, "but I'd…well…I'd like to take you to dinner, if you don't have other plans."

Kurt risked a look at his friend in the mirror. Blaine's voice was confident, but his expression was just hopeful. It made Kurt's stomach flutter, but his heart ached. The two sensations were not complementary to one another. He spun around, giving Blaine his best showman's smile and hoping it would be enough to hide how strange he suddenly felt.

"Um…can I get back to you on that? I'd love to, I swear I would. I just want to make sure there's nothing planned with the girls or with family that I don't know about first." He surprised himself at how easily the lie slipped out, and then he felt awful immediately. It wasn't that he didn't want to go out to dinner with Blaine. He thought it would be really fun, and he was unbelievably flattered to be asked. But at the same time, he thought he should probably get his head on straight before he went on a date with anyone. He determinedly kept his mind away from Dave Karofsky, but only just barely.

"Sure," said Blaine, and Kurt hoped he was only imagining the sad, understanding look in his friend's eyes. "Just let me know when you've figured it out."

* * *

It was 3 a.m. on Christmas morning, and Burt Hummel stumbled sleepily into the kitchen for a glass of water to find his son sitting at the kitchen counter, a mug of tea in his hands, looking troubled.

"What're you doing up, kiddo? You know, Santa Claus won't come if you're not in bed."

Kurt smiled at the feeble joke. His dad knew perfectly well he'd never believed in Santa Claus. He sighed and pushed his mug away, meeting his father's eyes and considering. He'd never tried talking to his dad about things like this, but that's what fathers were for, right? He'd give it a try.

"It's boy trouble, dad. Are you ready for that conversation?"

Burt considered his son's downcast expression for a moment. Then, he moved to join him, taking the seat next to him at the counter.

"Well, honestly, I don't know. It's not like there's a manual, or a class I can take to get ready. So I guess I'm ready to talk about it whenever you need to talk about it. Just...be patient with me, alright?"

The corners of Kurt's mouth turned up in a small smile, and he cut his eyes over at his dad. He knew he was incredibly lucky to have a father like his. He couldn't have asked for a better one. Sure, they didn't always relate when it came to their interests, but when Kurt really needed him he was there. He always knew what to say. Kurt considered how to begin for a moment, and Burt just waited patiently, letting him think.

"Well, you know Blaine, right?"

"The guy with the hair gel?" Kurt grimaced at him. "Sorry. Go on."

"Okay, so Blaine and I have a lot in common. We always have fun when we hang out. He's good looking, well-dressed and well-mannered, smart, charming, and talented. He's everything I would have thought to ask for in a potential boyfriend, and when he was over last week he gave me a Christmas present and then he asked me to dinner for New Year's."

"That's a good thing, right?"

"Normally, it'd be a great thing. It's just...there's this  _other_ guy." His dad raised his eyebrows, but Kurt just ignored him and plowed on, standing and pacing nervously as he talked. "Dave. He's gay, but he's still in the closet. But...well, he might have accidentally let it slip that he's in love with me once. And he might have accidentally been my first kiss." Burt's eyebrows were in serious danger of blending into his hairline at this point, but his son was so agitated that he was beyond noticing.

"He's nothing like Blaine. He's not charming or even particularly brave. He's a jock, he's not stupid but he plays dumb for his friends a lot, he's kind of hotheaded and typical alpha-male. He has  _no_ fashion sense whatsoever. Carpenter jeans, every day." Kurt shuddered delicately. "But he's also really funny, goofy even. He can be really sweet. He has layers...and I can't stop thinking about him now that I  _know_ he has layers. It really...well, it sucks."

"So, you have two boys that like you?" His dad gave him an amused look. "Since when is that a bad thing?"

"Ugh!" Kurt flopped back onto the stool beside his father. "You don't understand! Blaine is sweet and beautiful and perfect, but there's about as much spark between us as there was between me and Brittany. Or me and John Mellencamp, even." His father gave him a funny sideways look, which Kurt chose to ignore. He jumped up again, pacing nervously around the kitchen, making dramatic hand gestures as he spoke. Burt tried very hard to keep a straight face.

"I like Blaine but I don't  _like_ him, he's like a best friend or the gay older brother I never had or something. Except...not. He's more, but not enough. And Dave just quite honestly  _freaks me out._ And not in a good way, oh no, not in a Holly Golightly, running-through-the-rain-to-find-my-metaphorical-lost-self-in-a-cat-with-you way. In a heart-is-racing, pupils-are-dilated, Freud-would-have-a-field-day-with-this-shit, fight-or-flight response kind of way!"

"Did you just cuss?" His dad chuckled quietly. Kurt glared at him.

"Daaaad. I'm  _serious."_

"Okay, so seriously then. I don't see what the big deal is here. I mean, sure, it's hard, having two people like you and not knowing how to choose, and worrying about hurting somebody. Namely Blaine, since it sounds like you've got it bad for this Dave guy." Kurt made a funny strangled noise at that. "But to be honest, I'm glad."

"Glad? You  _like_ seeing me go slowly insane?"

"Don't be so melodramatic, Kurt. I like seeing you have romantic troubles that don't arise from your crushes being straight guys." Kurt flinched the tiniest bit, and Burt's voice softened. "And I like that there are two more people out there who've taken their blinders off and seen what kind of wonderful, amazing person my son is."

Kurt had to smile at his dad, and he returned to the counter again, his head falling on Burt's shoulder. His father reached around and grasped his shoulder in a firm, comforting grip that was his signature way of showing affection.

"This is how it's done, Kurt. Life, romance...it ain't easy and there sure as hell isn't a manual, or...or a pamphlet or anything that's going to tell you how to do it right. You're gonna make mistakes, and as much as I'd like to spare you any pain, some of those mistakes are going to hurt for you and for other people. But if you're always honest with yourself, and you always try to do what's right, I have faith that in the end the life you get to live will make all the trouble worth it."

"Dad...I think..." Kurt's voice was trembling a little. "I think you're right. I  _do_ have it bad for...for Dave. But I like Blaine too. He gives me…well, butterflies. And I'm about 90% sure that liking Dave  _at all_  is a mistake in and of itself. But wouldn't it...wouldn't it be equally bad to lead Blaine on, if I like someone else more?"

"Yes, it would be wrong to lead Blaine on when you don't feel that way about him. Why is liking someone such a mistake? You said Dave was gay, right? And definitely gay...you didn't decide this based on his hair color, did you?" Kurt groaned and rolled his eyes.

" _No,_ Dad. Like I said before, he told me he loved me. But Dave just freaks me out. I mean, he's not out like I am, he's so far in the closet he's having tea with a faun in Narnia." His dad barked a laugh at that. "He's also a meat-headed jock, or at least he acts like one. The fact that I'm able to like him at all after what he did should qualify me for the mental ward." He muttered this last part, but Burt just caught what he said. He sat up, turning to look at his son, concerned.

"What he did? What did he do to you, Kurt?" There was an edge of anger in his dad's voice that instantly had Kurt hurrying to explain, to calm the man down before he got angry and excited and damaged his heart.

"Nothing. I mean, not in a long time. He used to...well, he used to be one of the guys who picked on me. Threw slushies at me, shoved me into lockers, called me names." To his surprise, Burt remained relatively calm, although the angry edge to his voice didn't leave completely.

"What's changed?"

"I...well, one day he shoved me into a locker and I just snapped. I don't know why, I guess I was just tired of being poor Kurt Hummel, the victimized gay kid, all the time. I ran after him, and I started yelling at him. I got in his face and asked him what his problem was. I may have gotten pretty angry and called him some not-so-nice names, too."

Now, Burt was raising one eyebrow in the typical Hummel fashion. "Really? And how did Dave react to that?"

"Well, at first I thought he was threatening me, telling me to get out of his face or he'd hit me. But he never actually  _said_ he'd hit me, he just told me not to push him. And I kept pushing, and I was sure he was going to pummel me into the ground, and then…that's when he kissed me. Stole my first kiss, actually, although he had no way of knowing that. _"_

Burt just looked at his son as he talked. Kurt had always looked more like his mom than Burt. He had her delicate bone structure, her eyes, her hair, and her spirit. He remembered what Elizabeth used to look like when she got angry, how her face used to get red and her eyes used to flash, even her hair seeming to move of its own accord with the sheer energy of her anger. And he felt a sudden pulse of intense sympathy for this Dave kid. He chuckled, earning him a frown from Kurt.

"You're awfully amused for someone whose child is having a nervous breakdown over here."

"Melodrama, Kurt," Burt reminded mildly. Then he considered his son thoughtfully. "You know...what this Dave kid did was wrong. He should never have treated you like that, and he shouldn't have gone and kissed you like that either, without knowing whether you wanted it. The protective dad in me is reaching for his shotgun as we speak. But the  _guy_ in me feels just a little sorry for him. I remember what it's like to have a hopeless crush on a girl I didn't think would ever,  _ever_ look my way. I can only imagine what it must be like to feel that way for somebody and be scared of what will happen if anyone finds out. To be told that what you feel isn't just hopeless, but wrong, or not normal? Yeah, I don't envy the poor kid at all."

Kurt stared at his dad for a moment, his mouth open.  _I never even thought of that...of Dave liking me before he kissed me. I mean, it makes sense, but I always just kind of assumed it was a spur-of-the-moment, 'I'm confused and you're gay and you're right up in my face anyway, so why not?' type of occurrence. Not that I think one kiss would be enough to make him suddenly fall in_ love  _with me, it's just...Gaga this is complicated._

Kurt sighed heavily, and his dad gave his shoulder another squeeze.

"I know what you're thinking, Kurt," he said softly, his voice reverberating strangely with Kurt's ear pressed to his shoulder. "You're thinking it's wrong to like him because of the way he treated you, that it says something negative about  _you._ But son, being able to forgive people, to acknowledge it when people change, and to change the way you look at someone...that's not a bad thing. It's just something most people aren't good enough to be able to do. I'm not saying you should trust this kid immediately, and I don't want you hiding who you are for anyone, especially not some meat-headed jock." Kurt made a soft scoffing noise. "But if you really like him, you must have your reasons, and I think you should talk to him about how you feel. Who knows? You might even help him come to terms with being gay eventually. It could all work out."

Kurt smiled. His dad always knew just what to say.

"Thanks dad. And you're right...I do have reasons to like him."

"Oh? And what are they?"

And Kurt was off, sitting up and turning toward his father, his eyes lighting up and his cheeks flushing excitedly as he started to tell his dad about Dave, about his guitar-playing and the sunglasses, about his dry sense of humor and the way he bickered playfully with Melodie, about the color of his eyes and the way he looked when he smiled, the way he called Kurt "Fancy" and how the nickname was beginning to grow on him. Burt just watched his son, a small smile on his face...and made a mental note to put the fear of Burt into this kid if Kurt ever brought him home for a date.

* * *

On Christmas morning Kurt was unceremoniously bounced out of bed by a jubilant Finn Hudson, who was like nothing so much as a much-overgrown child as he eagerly urged his stepbrother to wake up and get upstairs to open presents. Grumbling the entire way about overly eager teenage boys on growth hormones, Kurt rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, smoothed his hair, and trudged up the stairs after Finn. Just as he was settling down on the couch, curling into a ball against the slight early-morning chill of the room, the front door opened and his dad came in, followed by a gust of wind, his arms laden with presents which he deposited under the Christmas tree.

"Morning boys!" Finn grinned at him eagerly while Kurt just curled into a tighter ball and grumbled about the cold. Burt chuckled; even on Christmas morning, he knew his son was  _not_ a morning person. Especially when he'd been up late, and before he'd had a shower and at least two cups of coffee. _Maybe this will cheer him up._

"Hey, catch, kiddo," Burt said, lightly tossing a small present wrapped in red and green striped holiday paper into his son's lap. Kurt uncurled a little and looked at it, then at his dad.

"Uh, thanks Dad. Can I ask why this present first?" Burt gave him a mysterious grin.

"Don't thank me. I didn't have anything to do with it. It was on the front porch this morning when I went out to get the presents from the garage. Looks like you have a secret admirer." His dad winked at him, and Kurt turned red. Finn was practically bouncing up and down on the couch beside him, although now his enthusiasm was directed at Kurt's mystery present instead of the colorful pile of packages under the tree.

"Open it, Kurt!" Shooting a half-exasperated, half-amused glance at his obnoxiously cheerful stepbrother, Kurt reached for the white bow on top of the present and started to pull at it…

"Waaaaaaaait!" Carol's squeal preceded her as she skidded into the room, wrapped in a Santa Claus-red, fuzzy new bathrobe and brandishing a camera. "Don't open anything yet! I want pictures!" She practically fell over herself getting around the room to Burt, who laughed and steadied her. She snapped a picture of Kurt, who grimaced and whined at her.

"Carol! I look dreadful! Can't pictures wait until after I've had time to moisturize and fix my hair, at least?" Carol giggled at him.

"Sorry Kurt, honey, but I don't think Finn can wait that long." Her big, lanky son was staring at Kurt with a horrified expression at the suggestion that they wait for him to do his morning beauty routine. It took him nearly an hour! Finn would go insane if he had to wait an hour before opening Christmas presents.

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Kurt squared his shoulders and shifted on the couch, relenting.

"Fine. But you owe me, Finn Hudson. And if  _any_ of these pictures end up in a digital format, I know where all of you sleep." And with a last glare, he turned his attention back to the mysterious present, pulling the bow off and unraveling the paper as Carol snapped picture after picture.

He gasped when he saw what was inside. It was beautiful.

It was a long, wide piece of material, incredibly soft and just slightly fuzzy to the touch, but sleek and silky looking at the same time. Kurt ran his hands over it, reveling in the texture. The scarf had tasteful tassles at either end, just enough to make it the finishing piece of an outfit for a walk in the snow. And the  _color._

It matched his eyes. Exactly.

It was the perfect gift. Absolutely stunning. It wasn't just something he loved, it was something he  _adored._ And something he never would have thought to buy for himself, though he may have drooled over it from a distance. He had a distinct feeling that it would be much too expensive. Who had known him this well? Even Mercedes didn't try to buy clothes for him, and although the hat from Blaine had been nice, this was something else entirely. This was beautiful.

As he pulled it out and looped it around his neck, loving the way it felt against his skin, he noticed a folded sheet of paper in the bottom of the box. With stiff fingers, he reached in and pulled the paper out. Unfolding it, he began to read, feeling his eyes fill with tears as he did so.

_Dear Kurt,_

_I saw this on one of those excruciating shopping trips Melodie drags me along on, and the color reminded me of your eyes. I hope you like it. If not, just let me know and I'll get you something better. Also, here's something I wrote for you. It's not much but it kind of goes with the scarf. If you want, maybe I can play it for you sometime. Merry Christmas._

_Tornado green and ocean blue..._

_I looked so hard to find the colors_

_complex enough to describe you:_

_tornado green and ocean blue._

_The midnight's red and the morning's grey._

_I guess Mother Nature likes to keep things mysterious._

_Why do you laugh and then run away?_

_Why does your smile look so damn serious?_

_With heather grey and diamond white,_

_another color moves just beneath the surface…_

_just like the colors of your eyes,_

_heather grey and diamond bright._

_I thought I'd seen it all when I first laid eyes on a rainbow,_

_thought I knew everything there was to see and do._

_But then you walked right in and rearranged, and left your stains,_

_and now I only see in shades of you._

_Tornado green and ocean blue:_

_I looked so hard to find those colors,_

_but they just look faded next to you._

_Tornado green and ocean blue._

Kurt looked up at his family, all of whom were giving him looks varying from concern to knowing smugness—on his dad's part, of course—and obviously waiting to see what the letter was all about. Wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his pajama shirt, Kurt jumped up from the couch and ran for the basement, calling over his shoulder as he went and ignoring Finn's protests.

"I need to make a phone call really quick. I swear I'll be back in two minutes, Finn! Sorry!"

He knew exactly where he wanted to be for New Year's. Picking up his phone from the bedside table, he dialed Blaine's number, fingers shaking.

The boy picked up on the third ring, and Kurt thought he could hear a girl cackling maniacally in the background. He suddenly felt bad; it was Christmas morning, Blaine was probably with his family. But Blaine's voice just sounded breathless and happy when he said, "Hello?"

"Blaine, it's Kurt. I…" he only hesitated for a fraction of a second. "I can't go to dinner with you on New Year's. I'm so sorry, but I just found out this minute, something's come up. Can we hang out some other time?"

He was so full of nervous excitement that he completely missed the obvious disappointment in the other boy's voice as he said it was fine. They hung up quickly, and Kurt was already dialing again, his fingers shaking so much he had to hang up and try again three times. When he finally did get the number right, it was five rings before a very groggy voice answered the phone.

"Dave? It's Kurt. We need to talk. Can you meet me somewhere later?"


	20. Snow Globe

Dave got out of his truck, shivering a little and hunching his shoulders against the cold as he crossed the street. He looked around as he entered the park, searching for a flash of color, a pale face or a bright sweater—

They saw each other at the same time. Kurt was standing by a park bench under an evergreen tree, black sweater-clad arms wrapped tightly around his torso in a vain effort to keep warm. His pale face was tense with some emotion Dave couldn't put a name to, and his eyes were fixed on Dave's.

The object of his gaze stopped, hunched inside his letterman jacket, hesitating. He wasn't sure why Kurt had called him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Kurt's stare was intense, unreadable, and Dave was frightened by it.

Then Kurt moved impatiently, dropping his arms to his hips, and the collar of his jacket came open a bit, showing Dave a brilliant flash of color.

He was wearing it.

Eyes widening, Dave barely registered that his feet were carrying him forward until he was only a few feet away, and then Kurt was closing that distance rapidly, stopping just short of their toes touching in the snow. Kurt looked up at him, his rapid breathing illustrated by the puffs of fog coming from his parted lips. His cheeks were red with cold and maybe something else as his eyes met Dave's. Dave's breath caught and his heart constricted.  _God…he's so beautiful. So perfect._

* * *

Kurt was sure he was freezing, but he couldn't feel it through everything else he was feeling. If the snow flurries in the air were anything to go by, it had to be quite cold out. But his shivering was only from anticipation. And if his arms were clutching at his sides a little tightly, it might have been because his heart was trying to hammer right through his chest. That, or it was this feeling he had that if Dave didn't show, he might _fall_ apart, and if he did, the whole universe might  _fly_  apart. He wasn't sure what he was hoping for. Blaine's words echoed in his ears, and everything he'd said still made sense. Dave wasn't ready, Dave wasn't emotionally stable, Dave wasn't proud, Dave wasn't right for him. But his own words were putting up a fight, reminding him of his conversation with his father, and all the things Dave  _was._ Dave was funny, and unexpectedly kind, his laughter was infectious, his arms were warm, his voice made Kurt want to melt into the flooring when he sang, his lips were magnetic, he was a little clumsy and bumbling and he had no sense of style whatsoever, and Kurt loved it all. And he's said he loved Kurt…hadn't he?

_Oh God…Oh Gaga I'm not ready for this. If he doesn't show up…but if he does…I'm not sure I'm ready for this…_

And then he showed up, and everything just froze. Kurt saw him standing there, looking lost inside his hideous letterman, searching Kurt's face for something and seeming like he might run away at any moment. Needing something to do other than hold himself together and stand there staring, Kurt huffed impatiently and put his hands on his hips. Then, inexplicably, Dave was coming toward him, and he was moving toward Dave, and now they were standing there just looking at each other.

Kurt gazed up into Dave's face, and what he saw there was beautiful and heartbreaking. He felt like he could practically read Dave's thoughts in his eyes. There was shame, and longing. Pain and hope. Equal parts of each, and Kurt just wanted to make all of it disappear. He reached out to rest a hesitant hand on Dave's arm, curling his fingers and giving him a little squeeze. He smiled nervously and tried to steady his breathing.

"Dave…I…I loved your gift. It's beautiful. It's perfect." The taller boy smiled down at him, but the longing didn't leave his eyes. Kurt wanted desperately to close the distance between their lips. He wanted Dave to be kissing him. Why was his heart beating a mile a minute? It wasn't as if he'd never kissed the boy before. In fact, not counting one Brittany S. Pierce (and Kurt fervently  _didn't_ ), Dave was the  _only_ person he'd ever kissed. Shouldn't it be easy?

It wasn't. As soon as he realized he wanted Dave to kiss him, he was terrified. What if he did? Would Kurt let him? He would, but…would he know what to do? His previous experience with kissing had been largely unpremeditated. He didn't know if he could do it if he had to think about it. What was he supposed to do with his hands? And the cold weather was making his nose a little stuffy, how was he supposed to breathe?  _Oh my God, I'm going to die of suffocation in the park kissing Dave Karofsky!_

Meanwhile, Dave watched the boy in front of him panic, and it hurt him more than he would have imagined. Of course this would terrify Kurt. He was alone in a deserted park with the boy who'd tormented him for years. Somehow, he doubted Kurt had told his parents where he was going. Of course, Dave had hoped the last few weeks had changed Kurt's opinion of him, abated his fears a little.  _Apparently not enough._

Working hard to keep his pain from showing, he took a cautious step back from Kurt, trying to give the boy some space, achieve some sort of calm. Unfortunately, this had the opposite effect. Kurt's eyes brimmed with tears as he let his hand fall from where it had been clutching at Dave's arm. He dropped his head, breaking eye contact, and let out a quiet sob. The sound broke Dave.

Suddenly, Kurt felt warm arms wrapped around him, found his face pressed against t-shirt fabric. His nose was filled with the smell of leather, Old Spice, and plain soap. There was a large hand pressed against his back and another twining its fingers in his hair. He didn't even care that this was probably going to mess it up. He brought his hands up and clenched Dave's t-shirt in his fists, burying his face in the boy's chest and breathing unsteadily, trying to get his wild emotions under some kind of control. He realized that at some point he had started babbling between shaky, half-sobbing breaths, and he couldn't seem to stop

"I thought you were just going to walk away a-and  _leave_ me here without saying anything or doing anything. I've been fighting with myself for weeks and  _weeks,_ telling myself this is a bad idea. Blaine  _said_ it was a bad idea, but then my dad said it was okay to make mistakes, and I don't know if you're r-really a mistake or not, but then I think maybe I d-don't c-care, and I worried you might try to kiss me and I  _really_ freaked out because I  _want_ you to kiss me, but then what if I don't know what to do when I'm thinking about it, and then you'd think I was a bad k-k-kisser—"

Dave's lips were on his, thankfully stopping the nonsensical flow of words. Kurt felt his whole body relax, melting into Dave's effortlessly. This was better than words, anyway. He'd take this over any amount of words. This felt warm and perfect and  _right._ His hands released the front of Dave's t-shirt and slid up his chest and over his shoulders to twine themselves into a fist behind his neck. Kurt was on his tiptoes, his whole body pressed against Dave's, holding onto him for dear life. He thought the feel of Dave's lips moving against his was better than all the words in the world arranged by a master poet. He sighed into the kiss, giving Dave the opening he needed to slip his tongue in. The muffled noise Kurt made in response made Dave's fingers tighten in his hair, made every nerve in his body feel like a live wire. It was like those other kisses and not. The smells, the tastes, the feel of too-warm skin under hesitant fingers all matched, but the feeling was new.

That first kiss had been terrifying, unexpected, and unwanted. The kisses in Dave's bedroom had been just as unexpected, only slightly less unwanted, and if possible, even more terrifying for entirely different reasons. Those kisses in the janitor's closet had been hot, and desperately wanted,  _still_ a surprise, and left both boys feeling just slightly used and dirty. This kiss topped them all by a long shot.

Kurt was beginning to think kissing Dave would always be a surprise. He'd wanted it, practically asked for it, but he still hadn't expected it. But that didn't matter: he'd  _needed_ it. It wasn't hot, but it was warm. It wasn't terrifying, but it made him feel dizzy, disoriented and breathless, like the first big drop on a rollercoaster. It didn't feel dirty, even if it was a secret. It felt clean and open, flecked with snow and bathed in midmorning sunlight.

After what seemed like much too short a time, the two boys broke away for air. As Dave opened his eyes, he was mildly astounded to find that everything around him was still standing upright. He felt like the figurines in a snow globe must feel after their entire world had been vigorously shaken. He looked down at the boy in his arms, who had already re-buried his face in Dave's shirt. He smiled.

* * *

"I'm not sure I can do this, Kurt," Dave said for the millionth time. They were sitting on the park bench, Kurt reclining against Dave's chest with his head tucked under the taller boy's chin. For the moment, Kurt felt like they were a real, normal couple, sitting together in a park on Christmas day. He tried not to think about the fact that they were only being so open because nobody else would be out before lunch on Christmas, let alone at the park. He just focused on the feel of Dave's arms around him, Dave's breath fluttering his hair, and tried not to notice how much it already bothered him that he couldn't shout it to the heavens how he felt about his brand-new boyfriend.  _One step at a time, Kurt. Be patient with him._

He was determined to understand. But he needed one thing from Dave first. He sighed and twisted around so he could look Dave in the eye.

"Look, I know you can't come out yet, and I understand. I will give you all the time you need, and I won't try to pressure you or hurry you along. But I  _can't_ date someone behind my father's back. Even if I could work out the logistics of that course of action, he's my family. We don't keep secrets from each other, at least not big things like this. And Carol and Finn are family now, too, so that means there are three people in this world who have to know."

Dave looked down at the boy in his arms and felt tugged in too many directions. A part of him wanted to just say, 'okay and while we're at it, let's make it facebook official, and wear bracelets with each others' names on them, and can I introduce you to my parents?' But that part of him was cowering in a corner from the bigger part, the part that was  _screaming_ that he couldn't do this, any of this, he couldn't be gay and he definitely couldn't be  _out,_ and that he shouldn't feel this way in the first place.

Although truth be told, he thought he could have handled just Kurt's dad knowing. Maybe he could have dealt with Kurt's stepmom knowing. But he went to school with Finn Hudson, saw him in football every day. Without even mentioning how many reasons Finn had to hate his guts, Dave could think of a million excellent ways telling Finn could go horribly wrong.

But Kurt was looking up at him, wide eyes made even more brilliant by the matching scarf around his neck, cheeks and lips red against his pale face, warm body pressing against every inch of Dave from neck to knees, and he desperately didn't want to disappoint the beautiful boy in his arms. He wanted that mouth to smile at him, wanted to see pride shining in those eyes. He couldn't do everything Kurt deserved; could he really deny him this one essential thing?

"Okay…I'll do it. Let's go introduce me to your parents." Kurt's eyes widened even more, and his face split into a wide grin.

"Really? Right…right now?" He sounded surprised, and suddenly a little nervous. Dave laughed and stood up, pulling the boy to his feet and dusting the snow off the shoulders of his jacket.

"Yes, right now. Before my courage gives out, and before both our parents send swat teams out looking for their missing children."

Kurt laughed and threw his arms around Dave's neck, standing on tiptoe to peck his cheek.

"Thank you Dave," he said softly. Dave pulled him under his arm and buried his nose in his hair as they walked out of the park.

"Anything for you, Fancy," he whispered fondly, wishing with all his heart he could mean that literally.


	21. Air of December

Dave stared at his steering wheel, taking deep breaths and trying not to go into full-on panic mode. Too bad this moment was so panic-worthy on so many levels.

He was meeting his boyfriend's parents.

He was meeting his  _boy_ friend's parents.

He was meeting his  _boyfriend's parents_.

You could put the emphasis on any part of that sentence and it just made him want to panic even more. He took another deep, shuddering breath.  _I can do this. I have-no, I want to do this. For Kurt._

He got out of his truck, shutting the door a little harder than necessary out of nerves, and walked over to where Kurt was standing, having just exited his vehicle as well. He looked up at Dave, smiling, and held out his gloved hand. Dave didn't hesitate; he grasped that hand as if it was his lifeline, and together they walked up the driveway.

* * *

Finn Hudson wasn't nearly as dense as people made him out to be. Actually, he was quite perceptive. Sure, he didn't often get sarcastic humor, his vocabulary was pretty limited, and he wasn't exactly up on pop culture. But when it came to people, Finn had the kind of mind that cut through all the bullshit and the façades and got right to the heart of things. It was why he was perfect for Rachel Berry, whose heart could so easily get lost in her ambition, and it was why he was terrible for Quinn Fabray, whose façades were so much a part of her heart that even he couldn't often see past them.

Right now, however, his mind was far from either girl, focusing instead on his stepbrother, and on the way he'd looked when he'd torn out of the house earlier that morning, apologizing as he went, promising to be back soon. Kurt had been feverish and excited all morning, ever since he'd opened that mysterious present. He'd been far away somewhere all through opening the rest of their gifts, Finn's mom taking too many pictures, and Burt laughing as he burned breakfast. And he'd barely eaten two bites of the instant pancakes they'd settled for instead before he was out of his chair, wishing them all a Merry Christmas, and running off to his room to change clothes.

Finn had looked at his parents, waiting for one of them to talk Kurt down from his hyper ledge, but they had just smiled knowingly at one another and gone back to sipping coffee and feeding each other pancakes. Which was Finn's cue to leave, because as much as he loved seeing his mom so happy, the mushy stuff was still a little gross.

So now he was sitting on the couch in Kurt's room, propped up on his knees and looking out the tiny window-for once glad he was so freakishly tall-waiting to ambush his brother as soon as he got back. Maybe the gift was from that Blaine guy? But Kurt had shown him a hat and said Blaine had gotten him  _that_ for Christmas. So who could have sent it, then? Finn's curiosity was raging, and he had no idea what to expect.

But he was definitely  _not_ expecting to see two vehicles pull up and stop. And he was  _not_ expecting to see Dave Karofsky, of all people, get out of the second car, walk over to Kurt, and take his hand with a smile.

_Woah._

Finn nearly fell off his chair.

Sure, he'd had his suspicions about the two of them. At the wedding, he'd seen them dance together and he had just  _known_ there was something going on there; Kurt had all but confirmed it with the way he ran off. But Dave was so defensive about it, and Kurt was close-lipped and sad, so he'd figured it wasn't going to happen. And then Dave had started hanging out with Kurt and his gal pals- _gal pals? He's rubbing off on me-_ at school, and they seemed so fine around each other, so normal and totally unlike the way most other people acted when they were in love and kept apart for whatever reason, that Finn had convinced himself he'd made the whole thing up.

But now Dave Karofsky was walking up their driveway holding hands with Kurt, and Kurt was flushed and bright-eyed, and was it Finn's imagination, or was his hair a little messed up compared to the way it had looked when he'd left?

_Oh...not even gonna go there. It was the wind, it just had to be the wind._

Finn had gotten over his problems with Kurt's sexuality, of course, and promised to stick up for him no matter what. But that meant that now Kurt was really his brother, and as such he felt he was duty-bound to beat the crap out of any guy that he caught him making out with. And he was pretty sure that would just make Kurt really pissed off, which was actually kind of scary. He sighed, and unfolded himself from his weird spying position.  _Looks like it's time to meet the boyfriend._

* * *

Dave hesitated at the door for the smallest of moments, Kurt's hand in his, the smaller boy waiting patiently for a sign. When Dave nodded minutely, Kurt reached out and opened the door, calling out as he stepped inside, pulling Dave with him.

"Dad! Finn? Carol? Can you guys come here for a minute? There's someone I want you to meet."

Dave stood a little awkwardly behind his new boyfriend, the hand that wasn't clasped in one of Kurt's stuffed into one of the pockets of his letterman, looking supremely uncomfortable and a little skittish. Like he might run at any moment. But he stood his ground, and managed to wipe away the terror on his face in order to smile at Kurt when the other boy looked back at him and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Burt and Carol Hummel came around the corner, Burt's arm around Carol's waist, a mischievous glint in his eye that matched the smile on her face. Dave barely resisted the urge to bolt as the pair approached him.

"You must be Dave," Burt said congenially, offering his free hand. A little clumsily, Dave withdrew his hand from his pocket to shake Burt's, a little of his nervousness melting at the warm reception. "I'm Burt Hummel, this beautiful lady here is my wife, Carol. And you already know Finn from football, am I right?"

Dave just nodded.

"Finn!" Burt called over his shoulder. "Come say hello to Dave!" Dave blushed and mumbled something, but Kurt silenced him with a slightly less-than-gentle hand-squeeze. Then Finn came up from the basement-Kurt frowned, wondering what Finn had been doing in  _his_ room-and walked toward them. He was smiling.

"Hey Dave," he said mildly. "How're things?"

"Uh...good. Great. It's...nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Hummel." He stumbled over the words, face turning red. The situation was quickly becoming stilted and awkward. Luckily, Carol decided to have mercy on them all.

"Well, you boys must be freezing. There's apple cider and cocoa in the kitchen. There's a pancake or two left if you're hungry, Dave, and candy canes are  _everywhere;_ if you see one, it's fair game." She smiled at him so warmly, and motioned them toward the kitchen. And now that he thought about it, he was actually pretty cold. And hungry. And he couldn't help but smile back as he walked farther into the Hummel-Hudson home, Kurt's hand still in his, Finn grinning at him awkwardly and Burt surveying the whole thing in silence, but with a satisfied kind of expression on his face.

* * *

When he was old and grey, Kurt Hummel was positive he would still look back on those two weeks after Christmas as some of the best of his entire life. They were blissful, peaceful, full of warmth and happiness, laughter and fun, and-most importantly-Dave. They spent every moment they could together, just reveling in each other's company. They went ice-skating, Dave laughing at the way Kurt's usual grace utterly disappeared when he put on a pair of skates. They had a snowball fight with Finn in the front yard, chasing each other around until they collapsed, breathless, red-nosed and laughing, in a heap in the snow. Kurt made a snow angel, and Dave built a snowman. Finn surprised them both by knowing how to make snow ice cream. He blushed and muttered that his mom had taught him when he was little.

Dave felt warm and welcome at Kurt's house. He could be completely himself, and he loved it. He didn't have to stop himself from staring in rapt attention as Kurt talked, gaze lingering between his eyes and his lips. He didn't have to reign in the impulse to grab Kurt's hand, or put an arm around him, or reach out and ruffle his hair affectionately-sometimes just to hear the indignant squawking sound Kurt would make. And when they were alone-or as alone as they could be, since Burt seemed to find an excuse to check on them on a pretty regular basis-he could kiss Kurt with abandon, the worry that Burt Hummel would walk in somehow much less terrifying than the thought that some random person from school would discover them in the janitor's closet.

Because against all the odds and his expectations, Burt seemed to  _approve._ Hell, he seemed to actually  _like_ Dave. He pulled him aside one time, just to give him the typical protective father speech, and then everything was just...comfortable. He found himself going to Kurt's house for Kurt, and then staying for dinner at Carol's request before ending up reclined on the couch with Kurt tucked under his arm and dozing as Dave, Burt, and Finn watched a game. Even more surprisingly, Kurt never complained about this. On the contrary, his normally high-maintenance and bitchy demeanor fell away entirely, replaced by an exuberant, hyperactive, perpetually jovial boy that seemed simply ecstatic at the way his family took to his new boyfriend. And  _that,_ Dave loved even more than the confident diva he'd always known at school. Yes, Kurt smirking or yelling turned Dave on, but Kurt smiling and squealing and jumping up and down like a kid? It made him melt. His adoration was so thorough that he completely forgot to feel self-conscious, or worry that he was acting like a chick. Or like...well, gay.

And the changes in Dave weren't lost on Kurt, either.

His defensiveness evaporated in the presence of Kurt's family. He didn't flinch or hunch in on himself, his eyebrows didn't furrow and his lips didn't tighten, whenever someone alluded, directly or indirectly, to his sexuality. He was so comfortable, so at ease, and Kurt felt an ache in his chest, as if his heart was getting too big for it and straining at his ribcage, when he saw Dave talking easily to his father, being charming with his stepmother, or just being a guy with Finn. This Dave was softer, soft-spoken and gentle and warm, and while the grizzly bear Dave turned Kurt on-something he was still a little loath to admit to himself-the teddy bear Dave stole Kurt's heart completely. He was sure he'd never get it back. As if he'd ever want to.

* * *

It was at the Karofsky house that things got a little bit hairy. Sure, his parents had completely thrown him for a loop with their easy acceptance of Kurt's sexuality, but Dave still wasn't ready to come out to them. He'd heard too many stories of parents who were perfectly accepting as long as it wasn't  _their_ kid who was gay. He didn't know if his parents would be that kind or not, but he was still too scared to find out. But that didn't stop Kurt from spending a fair amount of time at his house, under cover of the fact that he was friends with Melodie. Of course, that meant that Melodie had found them out pretty quickly.

She was up in her room, sulking just a little because her parents hadn't invited her home for Christmas, hadn't even  _called_ her, when she heard Aunt Gina call up the stairs.

"Kurt? Melodie? I'm going to hit the after-Christmas sales. I have my phone on me if you kids need anything, and there are snacks and drinks in the fridge. David, if your father calls, tell him to call my cell. Behave!"

Melodie frowned and sat up. Kurt? She hadn't seen Kurt since school let out for Christmas break.  _When did he get here? And why haven't I seen him yet?_

A sudden suspicion entered her mind.  _No way. No_ freaking  _way._

She was off the bed and down the stairs in a snap, grabbing Dave's knob and turning it, pushing at the door-

The damned thing was locked!

"David Allen Karofsky," she hissed against the door, "I  _know_ you have Kurt in there and I  _know_ what you two are up to and if you don't open this goddamn door  _right fucking now_  I will shout to the rafters that you two are making out and humping like a pair of horny teenage bunny ra-hey!"

The door opened just enough for two sets of hands to pull Melodie roughly inside before it slammed behind her. And Kurt was in her face, his hands on her shoulders, looking furious.

"Another word and they won't even find your sunglasses, Bloom," he said, and woah...Kurt was  _scary_ when he was pissed off. Melodie put up her hands in surrender and made a "zipping" motion across her lips. Kurt spun her around and sat her on the bed, pausing to lock the door before squaring off in front of her, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, bitchy diva face in full effect. Dave, for his part, simply lounged against the wall, looking a little red-faced but amused nonetheless. When Kurt glanced briefly at him, Dave only sighed and nodded, his expression flickering to being resigned for a moment before falling back into amusement as Kurt laid into Melodie.

"Okay, here's how it's going to be. I have some things to tell you, and you're going to listen, and then you are going to pretend that  _none_ of this ever happened because if you out Dave to his parents or at school, so help me God, I will find ways to torment you that you've never even  _heard_ of." Melodie blinked up at him, and fought a grin.

"Um, Kurt, you don't even believe in God," said Dave laughingly from behind him. The look Kurt gave him shut him up.

"Dave and I are dating. But he's not ready to tell people about it yet, and I'm okay with this. Aside from the three of us, the only other people who know are my parents and Finn-"

"Wait, you told  _Hudson?"_ Melodie exploded despite his glare. "God, Kurt, you might as well have put a coming out announcement in the freaking school paper! He's not a loudmouth or a gossip, but the guy has no filter." Kurt glared her into silence before continuing.

"Finn is my brother, and he looks out for me, and he fully understands how important it is that this be kept a secret. And even if he didn't, I made it perfectly clear that I would shave off his eyebrows in his sleep if he told anyone."

"Geeze, Kurt, you're getting kind of violent and scary." She quirked an eyebrow at Dave. "Is this your influence?"

Dave just shrugged comfortably from his safe spot on the wall. "I just do what he tells me and try to stay out of his way." Kurt threw his boyfriend an approving smirk before rounding on Melodie again.

"I'm serious, Melodie. Nobody. Not Mercedes, Tina,  _especially_ not Rachel. Nobody. I want Dave, but I want him to be safe and I want him to come out when  _he's_ ready, not when the rumor mill decides it's a slow news day. Please, Melly."

And it was that last part, the way his smirk slipped away to be replaced by wide eyes and a hint of desperation, that made Melodie resolve not to tell. After all, she reasoned, she'd pretty much gotten what she wanted, or at least halfway there. Dave was dating Kurt. And they'd have to come out about it eventually. Her epic prank was nearly complete. To Kurt, though, she just shrugged.

"Sure, I won't say anything. But wow, Davey, can't believe you kept something like this a secret from your own  _cousin._ I'm wounded, really I am." Dave rolled his eyes at her.

"Oh please. Like I needed to give you any extra ammunition. Freaking Satan spawn."

"Dave! Be nice to Melodie," Kurt reprimanded, and then the three had dissolved into laughter at the abrupt attitude change, Dave still chuckling long after the other two had settled down at the bizarre turn his life had taken in the last couple of days.

And that was how they'd ended up here, on a random night of the week-the days seemed to blend together when you spent them all doing whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, and with the one person that made time kind of stand still, stretch out, and fly by all at the same time-curled up under a blanket on David's bed and watching a movie on his laptop. It had become their unspoken tradition already-and Dave  _loved_ that they had traditions-to take turns picking movies. It was his turn, and he had picked something he liked that he thought Kurt could still appreciate somewhat:  _The Fountain._

Kurt had his head on Dave's chest, his back pressed against his torso. Dave's arms were wrapped around Kurt's, their hands clasped at Kurt's stomach, legs stretched out with the outsides of Kurt's lined up and touching with the insides of Dave's. They fit together like they were made for one another, and as much as he loved this movie, Dave was having trouble concentrating on it at all. He leaned his head down, resting his cheek on Kurt's hair and breathing in the scent of his shampoo. His eyes closed contentedly, and he let out a small sigh.

Kurt shifted in his arms, turning to look up at Dave with a smile on his face.

"This movie is beautiful," he murmured, "but so sad." Dave nodded, a little mesmerized by the way the gold-colored light from the screen caught in Kurt's eyes. He was suddenly hyper-aware of the other boy's mouth as it moved, and he couldn't seem to keep his gaze from flickering down to watch it every few seconds.

"Dave, did you hear what I said?"

"Wh-what?" Dave stuttered a little, and Kurt gave him an indulgent smile.

"Try to keep up, Neanderthal," Kurt said, the words affectionate and lacking any bite whatsoever. "I said, I'm rather impressed. Most guys wouldn't even be watching the movie, they'd just use it to seduce me into a make-out session."

Dave blinked, and his face turned red. "Uh...yeah. Well, I actually love this movie. It's one of my favorites. I thought you might at least like the music, and it's really romantic, so-"

"Dave." Kurt's voice was abruptly different, and Dave felt his face get even redder as he processed the glint in his boyfriend's eye. "As enjoyable and beautiful as this movie is, I really don't mind if you just want to seduce me already."

Dave didn't need anymore prompting than that. His arms tightened around Kurt, pulling him even closer against his chest, and he bent down to kiss him squarely on the lips, suppressing a quiet moan at the taste of Kurt's honey-flavored lip balm. Kurt turned in his arms and rose up onto his knees, fixing the awkward angle and putting him above Dave so the usually taller boy had to lean up to remain in the kiss. He cupped Dave's face in his white, delicate hands as Dave wrapped both arms around his waist, deepening the kiss. He could feel his heart racing away in his chest like it was trying to leave him behind altogether. Kurt sighed into his mouth, his breath tasting of candy canes—they really  _were_ everywhere this time of year, and Dave's mom was just as bad as Carol about them—and Dave groaned, releasing Kurt's face only to grasp the collar of his shirt, rolling them both over so Kurt was on his back, and Dave was hovering over him, holding himself up with one hand, holding Kurt with the other. Kurt was pressing up into his body and holding onto his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles there a little painfully, but Dave didn't care. The movie was still going, its melancholy, beautiful music and lighting creating a gentle ambience that clashed with the heated exchange happening on the bed. Dave didn't care about that either. He felt light-headed from joy and lust and lack of oxygen, and none of that mattered. He just didn't fucking  _care._

He didn't care right up until the moment when he heard someone try—and thankfully fail—to open the bedroom door.

"David?" It was his mother.

Dave snapped his head up sharply, breaking the kiss and losing his balance at the same time. He fell on top of Kurt, prompting a surprised "oomph!" from the other boy. Dave scrambled off Kurt, breathless and red-faced, looking at him in panic. Kurt could only stare back, his expression mirroring Dave's.

"David? What's going on in there?" His mother sounded suspicious now.

"Uh…nothing, Mom! I'm just—just watching a movie." He cringed at how breathless and husky his voice sounded.

"Are you alone in there? I thought I heard someone else."

"Uhh…"

"David Allen Karofsky, do you have a girl in there with you? With the  _door locked?_ " Now she sounded furious and scandalized. Kurt chose this inopportune moment to get a fit of the giggles. He stifled himself in Dave's pillow, but the damage was done.

"David, I heard that! Who is in there with you? You open this door right now, young man."

"I swear, I—uh, we're—just watching a movie, Mom. There's not a girl in here!" He frantically gestured for Kurt to shut up, which only sent the boy into a worse giggling fit. Dave growled in exasperation, but he wasn't too panicked. He could always just refuse to open the door long enough to figure out a way to hide Kurt or get him out—right? He wasn't thinking his clearest at the moment.

"David, if you don't open the door in five seconds I am getting your father to break it down."

He knew that voice. That was the "I Mean Business" voice. He paled. He looked at Kurt, who was thankfully no longer laughing. Kurt looked apologetic and miserable, and Dave just gave him a small smile. He reached over and tried to straighten the other boy's hair a bit. He took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. His mother having some suspicions was ten times better than his father breaking down the door and  _knowing_ something shifty had been going on.

He pulled the door open and then resumed his previous seat on the bed beside Kurt. Their arms were almost touching, but Dave didn't reach out to him, and Kurt tried his best not to be bothered by the lack of contact. Mrs. Karofsky peered into the dimly lit room for a moment before switching the light on.

She looked surprised.

"Kurt? Was that you I heard just now?"

"Yes ma'am," he said sheepishly. "The movie was just really funny."

"Oh? What are you guys watching?" She looked toward the laptop, and her brow furrowed. " _The Fountain?_ I didn't know that was a funny movie…" she trailed off, taking in Kurt's wrinkled clothes and disheveled hair, her son's flushed face. She didn't think she'd  _ever_ seen Kurt Hummel with wrinkles in his clothes, to say nothing of messy hair. She grew a little pale all of a sudden, and then a little pink.

"So…you boys were just watching a movie…alone in here…in the dark?"

"Movies are better in the dark," Dave mumbled, face growing just a little bit redder. Gina Karofsky stared down at her son, putting two and two together slowly. Then she looked at Kurt, who didn't seem able to meet her eyes. Her gaze shifted back to her son again. She made a decision.

She smiled.

"Well, just don't stay up too late, okay boys? And no more locked doors when you have guests over, David. The lock is for Melodie, not your parents. Kurt, don't forget if you spend the night, take the couch. Alright?"

And then she was gone, shutting the door behind her.

Dave and Kurt stared at each other, mouths slightly ajar and eyes wide. It was a full minute before either one of them could speak. Kurt was the first to recover.

"Well…I guess…that's lucky number seven."

Dave groaned, and they both laughed, and they settled down to finish watching the movie, their hormones cooled considerably by the knowledge that the door was no longer allowed to be locked. And Dave had one more thing to think about: his mother knew. And didn't seem to care.


	22. New Year's Eve

"But Daaaaaaave…you have to go with meeeeee! Pleeeeeease?"

Dave groaned and rolled away from his whining boyfriend.  _It ought to be a crime to be that adorable and damn annoying at the same time_ , he thought grouchily.

"I don't see why I need to be there. They're your friends, not mine. I wasn't even really invited."

"I'm inviting you," Kurt said, crawling over to press himself against Dave's back, wrapping his arms around broad shoulders and nuzzling his head into Dave's neck. His fingertips just barely touched in front. He sighed contentedly despite the argument they were having, breathing in the scent of Dave and feeling warm all over. But he couldn't be deterred for long.

"It's New Year's Eve, David," he said softly, his voice slightly muffled against the other boy's neck. Kurt's breath and the movement of his lips tickled, and Dave shivered a little. He turned to look Kurt in the eyes, and immediately regretted doing so. His eyes were wide and glassy, and his mouth was determinedly pulled down, not even hinting at a smile. It was a tragic expression, and it went straight to Dave's heart.

"Ugh, don't look at me like that," he said, turning to pull Kurt into his arms. "It isn't fair. You can't just—just give me the big eyes and make me do whatever you want."

"Why not?" Kurt pouted. Dave sighed.

"Kurt, I  _can't_  go to this party with you, okay? Your friends will be there, and knowing Puckerman there'll be alcohol. It could get a little crazy, and who knows what I'll do if I'm put in a dark, crowded room with you and intoxicated?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas," Kurt said wickedly, earning him a glare. He put the pouty face back on. "Come on, David. I really want you there. As for your worries, I'll make you a deal: I won't drink if you won't. Alcohol does nothing for my looks or personality, anyway."

"But what if—" Dave unwrapped himself from around Kurt and turned so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows propped against his knees, looking down at the floor. His face was troubled.

"What if what?" Kurt's voice lost its wheedling edge, and he slid to sit beside Dave, mirroring his posture.

"What if they look at us…and they just know?" Dave rubbed a hand back and forth across his forehead. Kurt reached out and grabbed that hand, pulling it to his chest and holding it there.

"Dave, look at me." He did. "Nobody's going to know. They aren't going to be able to look at you and just tell all of a sudden." Dave smiled grimly at his naïve little boyfriend.

"No…but they might notice the way I can't help looking at  _you_ , and correct me if I'm wrong, but that's kind of a dead giveaway."

Kurt grinned and blushed.

"I'm that irresistible, huh?" he said, worming his way back into Dave's arms. Dave groaned and returned the embrace, pressing his forehead to Kurt's and looking into his eyes.

"Hell yeah, you are," he answered. And that's where the conversation stopped, because their mouths were suddenly busy with other things.

* * *

"I can't believe you talked me into this, Hummel," Dave muttered under his breath. Kurt just rolled his eyes at him, as usual.

"Oh stop being melodramatic,  _Karofsky_. That's my job. Now come on." And with that, he dragged Dave out of his car and pulled him up the driveway to Rachel's front door, Finn following in their wake. He let go of Dave's hand before ringing the doorbell.

"Kurt, Dave…Finn! I'm so glad you guys could make it! Come right in." A terrifyingly chipper Rachel Berry all but yanked them through her front door, Kurt grabbing a fistful of the back of Dave's letterman to keep from toppling over as they were herded into the living room. Several of the Gleeks were already sitting around, facial expressions ranging from bored to annoyed. Quinn, Brittany, Artie, Mercedes, Tina, and Mike were all there already. They all greeted Finn, but paused for a moment when they saw Kurt and Dave enter the room.

Tina and Mercedes didn't look as shocked as the rest of them, but Kurt still saw their eyebrows go up at him, and he wondered why until he realized that he had forgotten to relinquish his hold on the back of Dave's letterman jacket. He dropped his hand like he'd burned it, but knew he'd have some explaining to do later.  _Great start to the evening Kurt, really discreet._

Kurt and Dave took up strategic positions, near enough to each other without actually being right next to one another. That is, they stuck a very awkward Finn in between them and tried to strike up some conversation. Of course, Rachel being Rachel, she wanted everyone to play Yahtzee or some other lame party game, but they weren't biting. All in all, everyone was grateful when Puck arrived bearing the gifts of booze and gossip. Booze because he was Puck, and gossip because on his arm was none other than wrestling champion A/V clubber Lauren Zizes.

Lauren Zizes?

The girl smirked at all of them as she entered, managing to look bored, pissed off, and sardonically amused all at the same time. She raised an eyebrow at Quinn's gaping mouth, and the Cheerio shut it with an audible snap, wincing like she'd hurt her teeth. For his part, Puck looked smug, sexy, and over-the-moon—not to mention positively oblivious at the stir his date was causing. Kurt was dying to know what was going on, and how this had happened, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. Thankfully, Finn decided to be tactless and do it for him. Kurt got up and followed Puck and Finn to the kitchen, leaning against the counter and trying to make himself small and inconspicuous behind his giant of a stepbrother.

"Uh, dude?" Finn addressed Puck as he was helping himself to something bright green and dangerous-looking. Puck cocked his head in Finn's direction.

"Yeah?"

"Er, well…what's Lauren Zizes doing here?"

Puck shrugged. "She's here with me, dude."

"Wait, with you? Like… _with_  you, with you?"

"Yeah." His tone was completely casual, and met with utter silence from Finn. Finally, the taller boy's stunned expression seemed to register with Puck. He pointed a threatening digit in Finn's direction.

"Hey, don't give me shit about this, Hudson." Finn's hands went up in surrender, and Puck backed down, shrugging again. "Look, we did that English project together last semester, right? And I dunno…she's just awesome. She's the only girl I know who's just as badass as I am. It works. Plus—" He leaned in conspiratorially, and Kurt inched closer, trying not to look like he was eavesdropping while still hearing the next words to come out of Pucks' mouth. "Chick's frickin' greedy in bed, man. Usually  _I'm_ the one who has to fake a headache or say I'm just not in the mood."

 _Okay,_  thought Kurt, leaning back in his chair.  _I could probably have lived without knowing that._

He heard Dave chuckle behind him, and turned to find the bigger boy leaning against the wall, watching Kurt eavesdrop with his eyebrows raised as if he knew exactly what the smaller boy was thinking. Kurt glared and waved at him to go away, but Dave just shook his head, grinning the same cat-ate-the-canary grin that his cousin possessed, and Kurt couldn't help but grin back. Across the room, Mercedes frowned, deep in thought.

* * *

The party was in full swing, music blaring and drinks pouring, when things started to get a little weird. At first it was just the normal alcohol-induced stuff: Rachel flirting shamelessly with a reluctant Finn, Brittany and Artie rolling around in Artie's wheelchair with the former's clothes disappearing gradually, Tina and Mike making out in a corner, Kurt, Dave, and Mercedes standing awkwardly by, and Quinn sitting back with her arms crossed and looking disapprovingly at everything. Then Sam arrived…

With Melodie.

Dave had figured there was something going on there. Kurt had  _known_  it, because Melodie was one of his precious ladies and they talked. Mercedes and Tina had known as well. In fact, everyone had more or less figured out something was going on between the two, even if they weren't blatant about it in public. But as they came stumbling in, Sam's arm wrapped around Melodie's waist, laughing at something so they were both red in the face, it became painfully obvious to anyone paying attention that one person had not known exactly what was going on.

Quinn stood abruptly from her perch in the corner, where she'd been silently judging the rest of them all night. She knew better than anyone what drinking could get you into, and she had no intention of ending up impregnated by another Lima loser because of wine coolers and low self-esteem. But when she saw Sam come in so literally and figuratively wrapped up in Melodie, she figured,  _what the hell? My self-esteem just took a dive, why not add in the wine coolers and see if Beth ends up with a sibling?_

She marched into the kitchen—where a still-sober Dave and Kurt had taken up residence at opposite ends of the table so as to stay out of everyone else's way—grabbed a glass of something, not even bothering to look at what it was, and downed the whole thing in a gulp before pouring herself another. The two boys just stared up at her.

"Uh, Quinn?" Kurt said tentatively. "I'm not sure that's a very good—um, never mind." The last word came out in a squeak as he processed the look she was giving him. It was the one Finn called "Scary Quinn." She flounced away.

And the night just got even weirder.

When Quinn was drunk enough that she had backed Finn into a corner, shamelessly kissing him without his permission while he looked flabbergasted and Rachel looked heartbroken and furious, three more guests arrived.

"Blaine? What—I mean, hi!" Kurt looked more than a little shell-shocked as the Warbler—looking cuter than ever with his hair out of its normally rigidly-gelled style, and in a close-fitting sweater and jeans instead of his uniform—came and wrapped him in a big hug, grinning from ear to ear.

"Kurt! Hey, Rachel invited me. Looks like we'll get to spend New Year's Eve together after all, huh?"

Dave's jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything. Kurt just turned a bit red.

"Uhh…right. Sure. How did Rachel even know your number?" Blaine just shrugged, his enthusiasm seeming to drain a little as he processed Kurt's expression and tone.

"Mercedes. They both thought you'd be happy to see me. Um…but I can go, if you'd rather not—"

"No, Blaine, no!" Kurt valiantly fought the urge to wince at the tension he could feel just  _rolling_ off Dave behind him. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I'm happy to see you. Sit down, and tell me all about your life. I haven't talked to you in weeks!"

Blaine probably would have done just that, if the last guests hadn't chosen just that moment to arrive.

"Daa-aaave! I invited someone here especially for youu-uuuu!" Rachel's voice was full of obnoxious, sing-songy mischief, and Dave turned, trepidation evident on his face, to see who Rachel had thought  _he_ would want to see at this bizarre party. And froze.

"A…zimio?"

* * *

Santana had apparently brought Azimio as her date at Rachel's request. It made a strange kind of sense, Dave supposed. Rachel had thought he might be uncomfortable if he were the only non-Gleek at the party other than Blaine, who he didn't know. So she had oh-so-considerately asked Santana to bring a non-Glee football player as her date. And Santana had hit the jackpot as far as friends of Dave went.

If he hadn't been desperately trying to get through the night without outing himself to a dozen people, he might have thought it was a really nice thing for her to do. As it was, he kind of wanted to toss Rachel  _and_ Blaine on a giant winged moth and fly them back to the Shire where they belonged.

The feeling intensified as Rachel stood up on a chair and started screeching for everyone's attention.

"Hey! Guys! Guysguysguys!" She had started drinking when Quinn had been kissing Finn into a corner, and it was evident in her voice, every sentence being punctuated with giggles. "Listen up. It's midnight in an hour. And you know what happens at midnight, right? You have to kiss somebody! So everybody find your kissing partners!"

Dave grit his teeth.  _Great. Just great. Don't tell me I'm going to have to pretend to enjoy kissing one of the girls while I watch Blaine make a move on Kurt. This is so_ not  _how I wanted to spend New Year's. Why couldn't we have just stayed home and watched a movie, or gone somewhere alone?_

As annoyed as he was, though, he couldn't be mad at Kurt. Because a small voice in the back of his head—that sounded freakishly like a tipsy Rachel—reminded him that he  _could_ just decide to be brave. He  _could_ swallow his misplaced pride, grab Kurt Hummel and kiss him at midnight. He could be the boy of Kurt's dreams and go back to school more or less outed, carrying his books to class and holding his hand in public, kissing him at his locker…

And taking a slushie to the face while his old friends laughed at him and called him a fag.

_Yeah, okay…not ready for that yet. But still…_

He  _could_ find a way to kiss Kurt at midnight.

* * *

"Man, this party's freakin' weird." Azimio collapsed onto the couch in the living room, talking out loud to nobody in particular. The girl on the other side of the couch gave him a dirty look.

"What, are our "gleeky" festivities not cool enough for you? Then why don't you leave?" Azimio started, and turned to look into the full-blown diva face of Mercedes Jones. He scooted back a little, trying to increase the distance between himself and all that sass.

"Uh, Santana's kinda my ride… She never lets dudes drive when they take her on dates. It's like a rule or somethin'. Anyway, I just meant the way everyone's getting' wasted and chasin' each other around."

"What, like you football jocks don't do this kind of thing after every game? Even the many you lose?"  _Damn,_ he thought.  _This chick' attitude should have it's own zip code._

"Actually," he said, looking around to see if anyone else would hear, "I don't really know. I never even go to the after-parties. They're not my thing. Usually me and Dave just hang out after, play video games or somethin'."

Mercedes looked a little shocked for a minute. Then slowly, her expression softened into something much more welcoming.

"Well, allow me to introduce you to the lifestyles of the rich and the famous." She scooted closer, leaning in and pointing a discreet finger toward Brittany and Artie, the former of which was currently sitting, half-clothed, in the latter's lap, playing with a lock of his hair while she laughed at something he was saying.

"Brittany and Artie. Those two will definitely kiss at midnight, no questions asked. They are, like, weird soul mates or something. The discrepancy in their IQ levels notwithstanding."

She turned and pointed toward Finn, who seemed to have been cornered by a very drunk Quinn  _and_  Rachel. He looked absolutely petrified.

"Those three should just shack up together, because our poor Frankenteen can't seem to make up his mind. It's up in the air who Finn'll kiss at midnight, and how big of a hissy the one he doesn't kiss is gonna throw."

Azimio grinned, finding the whole thing kind of amusing. Mercedes directed his attention to various points around the room, explaining which couples would hook up at midnight and why. Mike and Tina, Puck and Lauren, Melodie and Sam. It wasn't clear to Azimio whether Santana was going to want to kiss him at midnight or not. She had ignored him completely since they'd gotten through the door, and seemed to be eyeing Brittany. He'd always kind of wondered.

"So, is Hummel gonna kiss that other homo at midnight?"

Mercedes glared at him.

"Oh, hell to the no, Azimio Adams. If you're at our party, you play by our rules. And here, his name is Kurt. And his friend is Blaine. And they are gay. Are we clear?"

Azimio had retreated to his corner of the couch again, but he nodded. "S-sure. We're cool…I was just asking a question." Mercedes relaxed, and then pulled a troubled expression.

"Well, I dunno. I used to think Kurt had it bad for Blaine, but lately he doesn't seem to talk about him as much. Actually, I think he has a crush on someone else and he's not telling me about it. Which is a capital offense, by the way."

"Man, I know what you mean. Dave's my best friend, but he's been hanging out with you Gleeks all the time, and he won't tell me what's up. We used to tell each other everything."

"Yeah, Kurt's the same way. I haven't even been able to get him to hang out with me and the girls since Christmas."

"Same here."

"Yeah—wait, really?" Mercedes was looking at Azimio, an expression that bordered perfectly on confusion and dawning realization on her face. For his part, Azimio was just confused.

"Uh, yeah. This is the first time I've seen him since before Christmas. He's been busy whenever I wanted to hang out, but he won't tell me what he's doing, and every time I call he's either too busy to talk or he doesn't answer. One time, I even went to his house, but his mom said he wasn't there; he was 'over at a friend's house.'"

"What's so weird about that?" Mercedes asked.

"Well…Dave doesn't actually  _have_ that many friends. I mean, he's cool and all, but he doesn't let a lot of people in, ya know? I don't think I've ever seen him talk to the other guys on the team outside of practice."

Mercedes barely heard the end of what Azimio was saying. Her mind was racing past things like sunglasses and Power Ranger figurines, Kurt's sudden disinterest in Blaine and the way he'd been holding onto the back of Karofsky's jacket when he'd first arrived.

"Oh.  _Hell._ To. The. No."

Azimio looked at her warily. "What did I say now?"

"It's not you. It's Kurt. I am gonna kill myself a pretty little gay fashionista."

"Uh…why?" Mercedes turned to look at him.

"Because," she hissed under her breath, "I think  _my_ best friend is dating  _your_ best friend behind my back, and even just ignoring how  _completely_ messed up  _that_ is, Kurt and I have a rule. We do. Not. Keep. Secrets."

Azimio just stared at her.

* * *

Dave couldn't take it anymore. He'd been sitting quietly by, watching Kurt chat happily with Blaine about fashion magazines and Liza Minnelli—whoever the hell that was—for nearly half an hour, and then he'd had to grit his teeth and take deep breaths to keep from doing anything stupid when Blaine had started  _flirting_ with Kurt.

First it was the playful little shoves as they pretended to argue about something trivial.

Then, it was the hand on his arm as they laughed at something Dave couldn't find funny because he didn't have a clue what they were talking about.

 _Then,_ when there were just a few minutes to go until midnight, Blaine had put a hand over one of Kurt's on the table, which Dave was pleased to see made Kurt look rather uncomfortable. Blaine opened his mouth to say something, with a look in his eyes that Dave recognized all too well. And he just  _knew_ Blaine was going to ask to be Kurt's kiss when the clock struck midnight.

 _Of course he'd actually ask,_ Dave thought disdainfully.  _Because Blaine is probably the perfect gentleman._ Too bad Dave was never known for his manners.

Before he really knew what he was doing, he was on his feet, his chair knocked over. He grabbed Kurt by the arm, leaning in to whisper urgently. "I need to talk to you."

Kurt looked up at him, startled, the ghost of a laugh still on his face from whatever fashionable, hilarious thing had just come from Blaine's mouth.

"Oh…oh—kay? Woah!"

Dave was practically dragging him toward the back door, leaving Blaine looking disappointed, surprised, and a little concerned. He even got up and started to follow, but Kurt turned back and waved him off.

"Just wait a minute, Blaine, I'll be back as soon as Dave's done with me!" And he tried not to smile at the slight innuendo before turning back to his boyfriend and trying to keep his balance as they stumbled through the back door and into the darkness of the yard.

"Dave, what—"

He stopped and spun around, releasing Kurt's arm just to capture both his hands and pull him close. It was a new moon on New Year's Eve, and the only light came from the dim castoffs of the party inside. Dave could see the outline of Kurt's jaw, and the shine of his eyes. It was enough. He cupped Kurt's face in his hands and stared into those eyes, willing Kurt to know how much he meant every word he was about to say.  _Better make it quick, Dave,_ he thought.  _Only a couple of minutes to go._

"Kurt, I am so sorry for every little thing I've ever done to hurt you. I'm sorry that I'm not brave, and not as strong as you. I'm sorry that I'm making you hide when you've always been so proud to be exactly who you are. I know I'm not the person you need. I'm not what's best for you…but I swear I'm gonna be.

Kurt just looked at him, eyes wide and rapidly filling with what Dave fervently hoped were  _happy_ tears. He took a deep breath, and continued.

"The last two weeks have been the best of my entire life. And it had absolutely everything to do with you. You're it for me, Kurt. You're the number 42: the secret to life, the universe, and everything. You're the only thing I want to get out of high school. I told you I'd do anything for you, and I hated that I couldn't really mean it. But I want to, and I'm gonna promise you something right now.

Dave leaned in closer, pulling Kurt's hands tight to his chest, breathing the words across his face.  _Sixty seconds till midnight._

"I promise you that the next time we kiss on New Year's, it won't be a secret. I won't have to drag you out into the cold and kiss you in the dark like I'm ashamed of you. I'm  _not_ ashamed of you; I'm just scared. But I'm not always gonna be scared, Kurt. I'm gonna learn to be brave. I can be brave as long as I have you. And the next time I kiss you on New Year's, I'm gonna do it in front of everybody and their brother, and I won't give a good god damn what anybody thinks about it."

And as he heard the cheering start up inside the house, signaling the start of a brand new year, he leaned in and kissed Kurt hard, passionately, with more reckless abandon even than that first kiss so many months ago, on that fateful day in the locker room. Kurt kissed him back, and the new year came in with the two of them locked in each other's arms…

…as their two best friends watched with identical expressions of shock from the kitchen window.


	23. The Calm Before

It was a regular Sunday night at the Hummel-Hudson house. Finn was playing  _Metal Gear Solid 4_ in his room, shouting in frustration at his inability to get past the boss battle with Laughing Octopus. Burt was watching a football game in the living room, Carol's feet in his lap as she lounged against the other end of the couch, reading a book. And Kurt was down in his room, watching  _Repo! The Genetic Opera._ Dave was laid out across the futon with his head in Kurt's lap, looking up at his boyfriend more than he was watching the movie, enjoying the feeling of Kurt's fingers absentmindedly running through his hair.

It was a regular Sunday night, with one important difference: tomorrow, they had to go back to school.

Both boys were trying not to think about it too much, trying not to let it overshadow their last carefree evening together. Because really, what was the worst that could happen? Dave had already established a friendship with Kurt and some of the other Glee members before Christmas break, so they could sit together at lunch and talk in the halls. They could always sneak off to some quiet corner of the school if they needed to, and no matter what, they would have the evenings and the weekends to be around each other and just be themselves.

Just thinking about it made Kurt tired. So he tried not to, focusing instead on the dark dystopian opera playing out on the television screen, the softness of Dave's hair between his fingers, the warmth wherever their bodies touched.

But eventually the movie was over, and it was almost time for Dave to go home. Kurt knew they had to talk about what tomorrow would be like, but he didn't want to. Luckily, Dave broached the topic for him.

"Kurt," he murmured lazily, his eyes closed and his face relaxed. Kurt looked down at him and smiled, but the smile was sad, knowing.

"Yes?"

"What am I gonna do tomorrow?"

Kurt frowned. "You mean, what are  _we_ going to do tomorrow."

"No," Dave said, rolling over and propping himself up on one arm, still leaned across Kurt's body. Their faces were only inches apart, and Kurt would have found this immensely distracting if it weren't for the vaguely queasy feeling in his gut as he contemplated the coming school day.

"I mean what am  _I_ gonna do? When I see you in the hallway and I can't reach out and touch you? When I want to hold your hand on the way to class, or meet you at your locker to give you a kiss, or carry your books?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Carry my books, Dave Karofsky? Really?"

"Kurt," Dave said, and his voice was so serious and pained that it wiped the smirk right off Kurt's face. "Yes, carry your books. And hold your hand, and kiss you before every class, and…" he ducked his head, refusing to meet Kurt's eyes as he mumbled, "give you my letterman to wear."

Kurt suddenly felt as if someone had dumped a tub of angry butterflies into his stomach.

"Really? He whispered. His boyfriend nodded, but didn't look up at him. Kurt looked at the top of his head and felt the butterflies turn to stone. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure he could do this; when Dave said things like that, Kurt realized he  _wanted_ it, all of it. He wanted to waltz up to Dave's locker in the morning and have Dave take off his jacket, wrap it around his shoulders, and walk him to class. He wanted hand-holding in the hallway, and pecks on the cheek, and sitting on Dave's knee at lunch, and dressing to match the way Artie and Brittany sometimes did. He wanted so many things that would make he and Dave easily the most disgustingly cute couple in school, and he couldn't have them, not with this boy. With someone else, maybe…the guilty thought entered his mind before he could stop it:  _Someone like Blaine._

Kurt took Dave's chin in one hand and tugged upward, forcing Dave to look into his eyes. He searched their honey-hazel depths for a moment; he saw the embarrassment, the fear, the shame and the apology. Most importantly, he saw the soft, imperceptible something that was the way Dave felt about him, and the way he felt about Dave. It struck him, lightning-sharp and just as shocking, that while he did want those things, he wanted them  _with_ Dave, and because of Dave. And if getting them meant he'd have to be without Dave, he didn't want them.  _Huh,_ he thought,  _color me completely, ridiculously, fabulously in love._ He smiled tenderly at those beautiful eyes, and leaned up and kissed Dave softly on the forehead before drawing back cup his face in his hands and stare intently into his eyes again.

"Here's what  _we're_ going to do," said Kurt, every syllable laced fiercely with the new knowledge of the depth of his feelings. "We're going to walk into that school building tomorrow and go to class like normal. At lunch we're going to sit together, if you want to. In between classes, we'll talk, if you want to." He relinquished his hold on Dave's face only to wrap his arms around his neck, pulling himself closer so that their lips were almost touching. "It's all up to you, Dave. I want to be with you, but I want you to be comfortable, and safe, and happy, so it's all up to you. And if it gets to be too much to handle, for either of us, we'll know the other is only a text message away."

"No," Dave said sharply, drawing back. "No janitor's closets," he continued, making his tone a little softer. Kurt smiled ruefully.

"I couldn't agree more," he said. "Okay, no janitor's closets. No closets of any kind. We'll meet in the auditorium, backstage. It's just as secretive, but a tad more legitimate and glamorous." He quirked a wicked little grin that Dave couldn't help but return, but sobered quickly. Dave didn't ask a question, but Kurt saw one in his eyes, and he sighed. Then he told him the truth.

"I won't lie to you, David. I'm going to hate it tomorrow. I'm going to hate every second of every day that passes when I have to keep how I feel about you a secret. Because I've never had a boyfriend before, and the fact that now I  _do_ but I can't do all those things that you're supposed to be able to do with him? That I can't hold his hand, kiss him in the hallway…wear his extremely unfashionable and ill-fitting letterman jacket…I'm going to hate missing out on all of that right now."

Dave looked like he was going to cry. Kurt reached out and draped his arms over Dave's shoulders again, crossing them behind his neck and twining his fingers back in his hair.

"But I'm going to love you more," he said, and Dave's eyes widened. Kurt chuckled, and when he spoke again his voice was soft. "That's right, Neanderthal. I'm in love with you. I  _love_  you, and I wouldn't trade that for all the letterman jackets and public displays of affection in the world."

He meant it, he really did. Seeing the pain leave Dave's eyes was worth any amount of sacrificing on his part, and really, these were such small sacrifices.

"I love you too, Kurt," Dave said huskily. "And I meant what I said the other night. I'm not going to keep you a secret for long. I'm going to come out and we're going to have all those things, and I'm going to make it all up to you. Thank you for understanding."

"Anytime, love," said Kurt sweetly, and Dave's heart swelled at the word. "Anytime."

* * *

Azimio Adams was on the phone with Mercedes Jones. This was becoming a fairly regular occurrence.

"Okay, so we're going to confront them, right? Tomorrow."

"Right. Tomorrow, you'll ask Kurt why he's been hiding it from you, and I'll ask my man Dave how long he was planning on lying to my face." Azimio blew out his breath in a frustrated sigh. "Man, I know we joke around and give each other a hard time—"

"Not to mention everyone else," Mercedes interjected.

"Hey, I said I was sorry, alright? I feel like an asshole. You're actually kinda cool, for a gleek."

"Gee, thanks so much," she murmured, but he could hear that she was smiling.

"Anyways, I know we give each other crap, but Dave's my bro. He's been my best friend since we were, like, eleven or somethin'. I can't believe he didn't think he could tell me."

"Seriously?" The smile was gone and the sass was back. "He probably figured you'd turn around and start throwing slushies at his head. That's what you do to Kurt."

Azimio grimaced, and sighed. "Yeah. You're probably right. But that doesn't let him off the hook, at least not all the way."

"And that goes double for Kurt. He knows better than to keep secrets from me. The last time he kept a secret, I busted his windshield with a rock."

Azimio let out a snort of laughter. "You  _what?_ Damn, girl, remind me not to piss you off. What did he do when you did that?"

"Oh, you should have  _seen_ the look on his face…"

* * *

Melodie was beginning to feel like she'd bitten off more than she could chew.

It had been hard enough keeping Kurt, Mercedes, and Tina at arm's length. She felt like she'd managed it pretty well until they helped her clean up after that slushie attack. After that, though, they didn't feel like shopping buddies anymore. They felt like friends, and she really didn't want any friends in this pathetic cow town.

Then there was the whole thing with Sam. She'd agreed to date him in a moment of total insanity, and now she didn't know how she was going to get rid of him. When her sense of self-preservation had finally reasserted itself, she'd reassured herself by saying Sam would probably get over the whole attraction soon now that they were dating. He'd find things about her he didn't like, or he'd get tired of dating a geek, or he'd realize she wasn't that pretty after the novelty wore off, or something, and then she'd be able to play the magnanimous ex by remaining his friend and never holding it against him or making his life awkward.

It was becoming steadily more apparent that Sam was not the type to pick a girl apart for her faults, or care about her lack of coolness, or get bored with her and renege because of her lack of runway-model looks. This created a dual problem for Melodie: on the one hand, it made it unlikely that she could get out of this and leave Sam unscathed; on the other hand, she seemed to find herself increasingly reluctant to try to get out of it in the first place.

All that was really piling on the stress, but the other thing that had Melodie wanting to scream and pull her hair out was—surprise, surprise—her idiotic cousin and his secret relationship with Kurt Hummel.

When she'd found out they were dating, she'd literally jumped for joy—once she was out of their site, of course. Her loosely-laid trap was working, and Dave had fallen for Kurt. Amazingly, Kurt had fallen right back. Melodie admitted to herself this was a little disappointing; it wouldn't have killed her to watch Dave pine for a few months. Still, it was a start, and if she had her way they'd be dating openly by the time prom rolled around.

The problem was, it didn't feel so much like a prank anymore. Her initial intent had been to get Dave and Kurt together, yes, and that was working splendidly, but the whole point of doing that was to put Dave in a position he'd never imagined himself in, to have him willingly do something completely against the whole uber-jock persona he'd built up. She wanted to utterly obliterate this "Karofsky" person she heard people talk about in school, both because he was a jerk who deserved it and because that wasn't her cousin Davey. The added bonus would come when she pointed out her part in the whole thing to him and got to watch him sputter, turn red, and have a minor freak out on her. The prank was subtle, sure, but that was the beauty of it. Dave's casual jab about putting tacks in his bed again had not been forgotten; she was determined to show him that she was both inventive  _and_ subtle, and not one to re-use a prank.

Which brought her right back to her problem:  _why doesn't this feel like just a prank anymore? Oh, right…because Kurt's my friend, and Dave's my cousin, and now I care about both of them and don't want them to get hurt, and I am_ way  _more emotionally invested in all this drama than I wanted to be, dammit!_

She pounded a fist into the pillow she was clutching, rolling over and staring up at the crossbeams on her attic bedroom's ceiling.

 _What if Kurt breaks Dave's heart? Or what if Dave does something stupid and breaks Kurt's heart? What if Uncle Paul and Aunt Gina find out and think I made their son gay? That's just the kind of thing they_ would  _think, too. Gah. And that Blaine kid obviously likes Kurt, and he's totally more Kurt's type, what if Kurt dumps Dave for him? Dave'll be crushed, and it'll be partly my fault. Oh God…what if Kurt and Blaine were destined to fall in love and I somehow messed it all up and now I've created some kind of bizarro-world alternate universe where Dave is gay and Kurt dates him and Blaine turns out to be a cannibal and he kidnaps me for supper and nobody wants to help me because I'm that obnoxious spare character everyone just wants to die already? Okay…breathe, Melodie. Breathe._

Melodie made a solemn vow then and there to never play pranks concerning matters of the heart again.

_Fuck subtlety. Next time I'll stick to the tacks in the bed._


	24. The Dave Karofsky Closet Shuffle

Monday

Dave sat in his truck, staring straight ahead and gripping the steering wheel till his knuckles turned white. He watched Kurt—wearing the scarf Dave had given him and looking perfect as always—cross the parking lot and meet up with Mercedes and Melodie at the door, stopping to laugh about something or other. He drank in the sight of Kurt's smile, and it was all he could do to keep himself rooted in the seat; everything in him wanted to bound across the parking lot and sweep the laughing boy into his arms. He just barely managed to hold still until Kurt had disappeared into the building with his friends. Then he jumped out of the truck and headed for the football field.  _No way'll I be able to concentrate today._

* * *

Kurt felt Dave's eyes following him as he crossed the parking lot, but he didn't look toward him. He didn't even spare a glance his way. If he had, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep from running to him. Funny how they'd seen each other, held one another, just last night and still Kurt felt like a lifetime had gone by. It was physically painful knowing his  _boyfriend_  was so close and being unable to acknowledge it. He focused his attention on Mercedes, made himself laugh with her, and then followed her to their first period English class, thanking Dave silently for having the presence of mind to stay in his truck until they were out of one another's sight.

Once in class, though, he found he couldn't concentrate. His thoughts kept wandering to Dave, thinking about what he was doing and what he was thinking. Occasionally, his thoughts would go places that definitely weren't appropriate for the classroom, and then he just buried his face in his hands until he could stop himself from blushing. Several times he took his phone out under his desk, started to text Dave, and then stopped and put it away again. It was like that all through English, and in math, and even in French. By the time lunch rolled around, Kurt thought he was going to go insane.

"Kurt…are you okay?" Mercedes gave him a look as they stuffed their books into their lockers. "You've been weird and spaced out all morning. Is there…" she paused, and something crept into her voice that Kurt didn't recognize and wasn't sure he liked. "Is there something you need to talk about?"

"Um…no, 'Cedes, I'm fine," he said, hating himself a little for how easily the lie slipped out. "Just some post-holiday doldrums, I guess. I, uh…forgot something. In the classroom. I'll meet you at lunch, okay?"

"O…kay…" Mercedes looked skeptical, and maybe a little disappointed, although that didn't make any sense. Kurt shook his head. Nothing seemed to make sense today. He watched Mercedes turn and join Tina and Melodie as they sauntered past. Melodie threw him a sympathetic look, and he gave her a pained smile back before turning to shut his locker and send a hasty text to Dave before he could stop himself.

_Meet me in the auditorium. Please. I need you._

* * *

Dave practically ran to the auditorium, but Kurt was already waiting for him when he got there. He could see the faint outline of his slender silhouette in the darkness for just a moment before Kurt closed the distance between them, crushing his lips to Dave's briefly before burying his face in Dave's chest with a deep sigh. Dave wrapped his arms around Kurt automatically, a little shaken by the sheer desperation and  _need_ he'd felt in that quick, bruising kiss.

"Kurt? Are you okay?" Kurt took a moment to reply.

"I am now," he said finally, and Dave breathed a sigh of relief. Kurt looked up at him, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around Dave's torso.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I just really needed to make sure the last two weeks weren't all a hallucination." Dave smiled down at his boyfriend, but the smile was sad, apologetic.

"I know what you mean," he said.

* * *

Kurt managed to get through the rest of the day without having a nervous breakdown, but when he looked back on it, he wasn't sure how. He barely sang during Glee; his mind was preoccupied with other things.

Mercedes kept shooting concerned looks at him out of the corner of her eye; it wasn't like Kurt to slack off singing. She wondered whether the way he was acting had anything to do with the Dave situation. She was going to ask him after Glee, but he rushed out as soon as it was over, running for the parking lot like his life depended on it. She watched him go, mouth open in surprise. Hearing a soft snort of laughter, she turned to see Melodie stifling herself with one hand while packing up her sheet music.

"What's so funny?" Mercedes asked a touch irritably.

"Oh, nothing," Melodie said with a grin that Mercedes didn't trust at all, "Just wondering where the fire is." Mercedes raised an eyebrow.

"That's what  _I'm_ wondering," she muttered. Melodie just shrugged mysteriously and sauntered out, hand-in-hand with Sam. Mercedes watched them go, wondering if Melodie knew about Dave and Kurt, and why Kurt was acting like a zombie. She glowered as she packed her bag.  _I'm getting really tired of being out of the loop with my best friends._  On her way to her car, she texted Azimio

_Did you confront Dave?_

_No,_ came the reply.  _You talk to Hummel?_

 _No,_ Mercedes texted back.  _I'm hoping he'll just tell me. I hate that he thinks he can't talk to me about this._

_Yeah. I know what you mean._

* * *

As soon as he was out the front doors, Kurt was dialing Dave's number. Dave must have been sharing his feelings of urgency, because he answered before the end of the first ring.

"Hello?" His voice sounded a little breathless.

"Hi," Kurt said weakly, practically falling into the driver's seat of his car and pulling the door shut with one hand as he clutched his phone with the other. "Are you done with practice?"

His answer was the passenger's side door of his car opening. Dave clambered in and shut the door behind him, locking it and leaning over to capture Kurt's lips in another needy, borderline-painful kiss. Kurt clutched at him like a drowning man, kissing back with a fervor he didn't even know he was capable of, practically crawling across the seat and halfway into Dave's lap. Dave was suddenly grateful for the tinted windows, because he knew this was incredibly risky but he didn't think he could bring himself to stop it. He pulled Kurt the rest of the way on top of him so that he was straddling his lap. It was awkward, but after the day he'd had Dave was willing to take any contact he could get, awkward or not. Kurt, however, made a small, frustrated noise and broke away from kissing Dave to lean sideways, reaching down and fumbling under the seat. Dave didn't really notice; he simply moved from Kurt's lips to his neck, his shoulders, his chest…whatever part of Kurt he could reach, cloth-covered or bare skin, it didn't matter.

Kurt's hand found what it was looking for, and he pulled the little lever on the underside of the seat. The backrest disappeared from behind Dave's head abruptly, and he let out a surprised yelp as he fell backwards, grabbing at Kurt and taking the smaller boy with him. Kurt just laughed and went back to kissing him until Dave felt dizzy with the lack of oxygen; still, he couldn't seem to bring himself to pull away, even to breathe. He kissed Kurt back with a terrifying sort of abandon, not caring for the moment that they were in the parking lot where anyone could walk by and peak in the windows to see just who Kurt Hummel was making out with. He needed to taste the inside of Kurt's mouth, needed to feel his soft, pale skin under his lips, needed to make his heart race and his face flush and his perfect hair look shamefully disheveled.

Bizarrely, Dave's first thought when they finally did part for air was  _mission accomplished._ He grinned up at Kurt's messy hair and red cheeks. Kurt smiled indulgently down at him.

"You're admiring the havoc you just wreaked on my hairstyle, aren't you Neanderthal?" He asked dryly.

"Yes," Dave said without an ounce of remorse. "I love it when your hair's all messed up." Kurt rolled his eyes and then climbed off Dave's lap, earning himself a sound of protest from his boyfriend. Kurt settled himself into the driver's seat, straightening his jacket and fixing his hair in the mirror before turning and smiling sadly at Dave, the fever gone from his eyes.

"Much as I love this," he said softly, "I don't want us to get caught…"

Dave heard the slightly false note in Kurt's tone, and understood it immediately. He grinned, but his eyes were pained.

"Oh please, Kurt. You're just dying to get caught making out. You'd love it. Between the cliché teenagery of it and the subversion of that cliché created by the fact that we're both guys, not to mention the shock factor, it practically has 'perfect dramatic moment in the life of Kurt Hummel' written all over it."

Kurt stared, mouth agape, and Dave grinned sheepishly.

"Uh…I think I've been spending too much time listening to Melodie's weird rants." Kurt laughed at that.

"Yes, I'd say you have. I will have to speak to her about turning my boyfriend into a feminist literary critic and queer studies theorist." Dave wrinkled his brow.

"Queer studies? They have those?"

"Yes," Kurt said, "lots of colleges offer what are called queer theory courses. I think at some places you can even major in it, or at least minor in it. Not everywhere is like Lima, David."

Kurt's voice was gentle, but Dave bristled a little anyway. "I know that," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I didn't mean to sound patronizing." Dave softened and leaned across the seat to squeeze Kurt's hand and give him a peck on the cheek.

"You don't ever need to apologize to me for anything, Kurt," he whispered. Kurt shivered at Dave's breath on his ear, but he just nodded. Dave planted another kiss, this one very tender, on Kurt's temple, and then he got out of the car and shut the door behind him.

It took Kurt a few minutes to get the fluttery feeling in his stomach under control before he started the car and headed home. When he got there, he went straight to his room, shutting the door behind him and collapsing on his bed. He stared blankly up at the ceiling; bringing a hand to his still-sore lips, he ran it up over his face and through his hair before letting it fall limp above his head. He felt completely upended, not to mention exhausted. It seemed like he'd lived a lifetime since walking into school that morning, and this was just the beginning. Suddenly, the rest of the week seemed interminable when looked at through the lens of time he would spend pretending not to be in love with David. They'd barely gotten started and already he was dog-tired.

 _God,_ he thought.  _This was only one day. How in the world am I going to keep this up for_ months?

* * *

Tuesday

_Ugh,_ Kurt thought as he rolled over and slapped his alarm clock into silence before sitting up and stretching.  _I think I hate Tuesday even more than Monday._

He hadn't slept well, tossing and turning with unpleasant dreams and just a general inability to get comfortable. He'd thought of texting Dave, but decided against it. Dave was probably asleep, and Kurt really didn't want to be that clingy boyfriend that called every time he had the slightest problem.

He glared at himself in the bathroom mirror.  _What in the world is wrong with you?_ He asked his reflection.  _Kurt Hummel does not act this way. Kurt Hummel does not lose precious beauty sleep and turn into a pathetic head case over a boy. Not even David Karofsky._

The mere thought of Dave's name had all the longing and anxiety of the day before stealing over him steadily. He groaned and headed for the shower, definitely hating Tuesday more than Monday.

* * *

Dave was being torn apart, limb from limb, like the slowest runner in a group of hikers that stumbled upon a zombie infestation in the woods. At least, that's what it felt like. He'd dragged himself out of bed, gotten ready for school in a haze of sleep deprivation and dread, and actually let Melodie drive his truck because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to concentrate. She didn't have to ask what was bothering him, and he found himself fighting feelings of eternal gratitude when she didn't pry or try to sympathize, but instead just sang along with the radio like usual all the way to school. After they parked, she jumped out and went in without saying a word.

That's when the torture truly began.

Kurt arrived a few minutes after Melodie had disappeared inside the school's front double doors. He was wearing Dave's Christmas present proudly around his neck, the way he had been every time Dave had seen him since Christmas, and Dave flushed with pleasure at the sight of it even as he felt an ache start in his chest. He was simultaneously frustrated and terrified; he wanted people to  _know_ that it was Dave's gift Kurt was wearing, and at the same time he was terrified of what else they might guess if they did.

As Kurt sauntered towards the doors with Mercedes on his arm, Dave marveled at how wonderfully  _together_ he looked. It wasn't just his outfit, either, although everything matched so perfectly that Dave was beginning to suspect Kurt of planning outfits around that scarf. He had not a hair out of place; his smile was bright and his eyes were shining. His walk was fluid, carefree, springy. Only the set of his shoulders and the way he studiously avoided even accidentally glancing in Dave's direction gave clues to how he was really feeling, and Dave was pretty sure nobody else would even notice. Even if they did, they wouldn't understand. Dave watched until Kurt was through the doors and out of his sight. He groaned and leaned his head on the steering wheel.  _Yep. Being zombie lunch is a fucking walk in the park compared to doing this every day._

* * *

This time, Kurt didn't even make it through the whole morning.

It all started out fine. He got to school, laughed with Mercedes, ignored Dave's existence, and wandered inside to grab his books and go to his first class. For a few minutes, everything seemed easier, and he was both disturbed by this—was he getting used to lying already?—and elated—maybe it wouldn't be so hard after all. Then he sat down in his first period class and tried to concentrate on the lesson.

He found himself noticing that the teacher had hazel eyes, and suddenly he couldn't look at her. He looked down and averted his eyes to the left, only to see the unmistakable red and dull yellow of a letterman jacket. Eyes to the right: Melodie was sitting to his right. Eyes to his lap: the trailing ends of the scarf were resting in his lap. He closed his eyes, and his traitorous mind summoned images of Dave making a snow angle, Dave smiling down at him, Dave laughing with his father and brother, Dave making him a promise at midnight on New Year's…

Kurt's hand shot up, and the teacher paused in her lecture to give him an annoyed look.

"Yes, Kurt?"

"I—" his voice cracked, and he grimaced and cleared his throat. "I need a hall pass."

His face must have looked urgent enough, or else like he was about to be sick, because she didn't ask questions. She motioned for him to grab a hall pass from her desk and went back to her lecture as he fled the room, feeling Melodie's concerned gaze on his back. As soon as he was in the hallway, he sent a text message to Dave with shaking fingers.

_I'm skipping class. Would you like to join me?_

He thanked the universe and the slow progress of human technology that emotions couldn't be sent via text message. Anyone reading that out of context would think he sounded coy, flirty, and maybe even a little devil-may-care. Certainly not desperate and pathetic, the way he felt at the moment. He sighed, but it caught on the lump in his throat and turned into a sob. He headed off toward the auditorium to wait for Dave.

* * *

_I'm skipping class. Would you like to join me?_

Dave stared down at the text message, not sure whether to laugh or cry or groan in exasperation. It looked so cavalier, so casual, and he didn't trust it. Kurt wasn't the type to skip class. He was trustworthy, responsible; Dave would have bet his letterman jacket Kurt was freaking out just as badly or  _worse_ than he did yesterday. He grimaced as a sickening combination of annoyance and guilt twisted his stomach. Annoyance at Kurt for putting on such a good show without the ability to back it up, and guilt feeling that way because he was the whole reason Kurt had to pretend in the first place. Self-loathing washed over him next, so strong that it cleared out everything else.  _I shouldn't be doing this to him,_ he thought miserably.  _I'm his boyfriend, I'm supposed to make him happy._

He stared down at his lap, eyes focusing on the glint of the red sunglasses he still wore every day in his hip pocket. He scowled at them. They represented a time so carefree, so easy by comparison to what he was living through now. He'd thought hiding himself was painful, but forcing someone else—someone he cared about, someone he  _loved—_ to hide for him was infinitely worse. Pretending to be straight while being friends with Kurt, laughing with him at the mall and wanting him hopelessly, wearing those sunglasses around just to see the wicked, secretive grins he'd get from Mercedes, Melodie, Tina, Rachel, and Kurt, sitting with them at lunch and lying to Azimio, saying Melodie was blackmailing him…all of those things had felt wrong. He'd felt like the world's biggest jerk the whole time. He experienced a wave of nostalgia for that feeling now, and sighed. He raised his hand to get the teacher's attention.

"Can I use the hall pass?"

* * *

Kurt was pacing behind the curtain. Dave could hear the echoing click of his boots on the wooden floor of the stage. His own shoes made little noise as he bounded across the auditorium and up the stairs, slipping behind the curtain to behold his boyfriend looking frantic and agitated. Dave's heart sank; he'd been hoping he was wrong about that, but it appeared he wasn't. He approached Kurt, who still didn't seem to have heard him, and wrapped him in a big hug, leaning over to bury his face in the scarf around his neck. Kurt let out a surprised squeak before relaxing into Dave's embrace, letting out a deep, relieved sigh as he felt all the tension slowly unknot itself from his stomach.

"Kurt," Dave murmured against his neck. "You can't keep getting worked up like this. You'll turn your hair gray." Kurt turned in his arms.

"Mmm," he said in agreement. "And I don't think I could forgive you if I had to start covering my gray hairs before I even get out of high school. I doubt they could match my color in the salon." Dave grinned sadly down at him.

"What's the matter, Kurt?" He asked softly. Kurt's cheeks colored, and he tried to avert his gaze, but Dave put a hand on his cheek, directing his face upward. Kurt searched Dave's eyes for a moment, trying to gauge what his boyfriend was thinking.

"Kurt," he said, "You know I love you, right?" Kurt nodded. "And you know this won't be this way forever, right?" Another nod. "Then you have to calm down," he said, voice firm but tender. "You have to remember those two things. It was real. It  _is_ real, and we're going to be okay."  _You have to stop freaking out like this because I hate myself enough already for what I'm doing to you._

Kurt must have seen some of Dave's unspoken thoughts in his face, because he wrapped his arms around Dave's shoulders and stood on tiptoe to kiss his forehead.

"I'll try to remember that," he said, "if you'll stop feeling so guilty. It's written all over your face, David," he said to the unspoken question in Dave's eyes. "Stop blaming yourself, and try to remember that I'm here because I want to be, and that if I didn't think you were worth it, I wouldn't have agreed to keep quiet until you're ready to come out."

Dave ducked his head into Kurt's hair, breathing in his scent and smiling at the softness against his cheek.

"It's a deal," came his muffled reply.

* * *

"Man, what the hell is up with you lately?"

Dave threw his duffle bag into the bed of his truck and walked around to the driver's side, ignoring his best friend's question. He should have known better, of course; the silent treatment rarely worked on Azimio. As Dave started to open the door to get in and make his escape—forgetting, for the moment, that he needed to wait for Melodie to come out of Glee practice—Azimio stopped him, grabbing the door with his hand and slamming it shut again. Dave turned to him then.

"What the fuck is your problem, dude? I gotta go—"

"What the fuck is  _my_ problem? What's  _your_ problem? You barely talk to me anymore, you know that? I  _know_ you're hidin' somethin' from me, man. Just spit it out: what the hell's up with you?"  _Just tell me you're bangin' Kurt Hummel already so I can tell you I'm cool with it and we can all go home happy._

Dave paled. He wasn't used to Azimio being so perceptive; usually he wouldn't know the difference between a happy Dave and a Dave that was about ten seconds from jumping off a bridge.  _Why'd he have to pick_ today  _to be a real friend?_ He didn't know how to react to this Azimio, so he defaulted to their usual setting: casual, and slightly antagonistic.

"Fuck, man, you're worse than my mother. I'm fine, alright? Just—got a lotta homework, coach is threatening to pull me if I don't get my grades up. Now I gotta  _go."_

"Your cousin gettin' a ride with someone else?"

 _That_ made Dave pause.  _Shit. Forgot about Melodie._

Not that it mattered all that much. He was sure Kurt or someone would give her a ride home, but it was so  _not_ worth it to leave her hanging at school and have her pissed off at him all afternoon. He sighed and leaned against the truck, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

"Damn. Forgot about that. See? I told you, a lot on my mind. Now will you get off me, already?" Azimio held his hands up in surrender, his face a mask of annoyance and disappointment that didn't really make sense to Dave, given the circumstances.

"Fine, man. Whatever. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

Wednesday

"So Will, I've noticed your Glee kids and my football players have been getting along better lately," said Beiste conversationally over lunch. As it always did when he talked about the Glee club, Will Shuester's whole face lit up and he came alive. Beiste smiled her quiet smile.

"Yeah, I've noticed. I tell ya, Shannon, I really think we're getting through to these kids finally. I haven't seen any of them come to practice covered in ice and food coloring for a couple of weeks now, and our numbers are growing…things are finally looking up."

"I wouldn't erect that statue of your overly prominent butt chin in the town square just yet, William," came a familiar voice from somewhere behind his left ear. Will fought the urge to swat at it like a nagging insect, and won. Barely.

"Go ahead, Sue," he said, rolling his eyes as he swiveled in his chair to face her. "Lay it on me. Tell me how I'm disturbing the natural order, or insult my hairstyle. Insult the kids and belittle what we do in Glee every week. Just go ahead and get it all out because it's not gonna change the fact that we are  _still_ here after a solid year and a half of you trying your level best to get rid of us. Guess even national championship winners can't win 'em all."

Will should have searched his soul and his past before speaking. If he had, he would have realized that any time he spoke up and gave Sue a little of her own back, the universe—or one Sue Sylvester herself—inevitably conspired to make his life harder in return.

"Well, William, I could certainly do any of those things with relish. But I'm not actually here for you today, I'm here for that." She was pointing rudely at Coach Beiste, who simply raised one elegant eyebrow at her, completely not intimidated.

"Figgins took away my cannon," Sue growled. "And he will  _not_ get away with it. I've managed to have my Cheerios' performance spot for the national competition moved to the same day as your championship game." Shannon and Will gaped at her. She just grinned her predatory grin. "Go ahead and gawk with horror all you want, it's done." She began to retreat backwards out of the room, lifting her arms to point obnoxiously and raising her voice so they could continue to hear her triumphant crowing all the way down the hall.

"Enjoy your halftime show without any Cheerios, Beistie. I'm sure it'll be a real morale booster!"

Will turned to Shannon, who looked furious, upset, and a little shell-shocked. He recognized the familiar sheen of tears in her eyes; for all her rough outer demeanor and blustering personality, Beiste was actually soft-hearted and sensitive, and he knew she had to be devastated by the idea of what this kind of blow would do to her football players' confidence. He reached across the table and laid a comforting hand on her arm. In typical Will Shuester-fashion, the sight of another's pain caused the gears in his brain to speed up, providing him instantly with the perfect solution to her problem. It was inspired, redeeming, unifying—in short, it was everything Glee club, and Will Shuester, were about.

"Don't worry, Shannon," he said, determination coloring his voice. "You're gonna have one hell of a halftime show."

* * *

"You want us to  _what_?" Jason Strando stared at Coach Beiste in disbelief, his exclamation ringing out over the low grumbles of everyone else.

"You heard me, Strando," said Beiste. "Coach Sylvester pulled all the Cheerios from the halftime show, so Mr. Shuester has volunteered to have the Glee club step in and perform instead. But they need more people for the performance, so we're gonna repay the favor by helping them out with the dance."

"Hold up," said Azimio. "You're tellin' us we have to get dressed up in sequins and feather boas and prance around the football field at halftime at our own championship game? Coach, it's the  _championship game!_ " He looked sideways at Dave, expecting his friend to back him up. Dave wasn't saying anything, however. He was just staring at Coach Beiste, expression frozen.

"We're not gonna wear feather boas," Finn spoke up. "Guys, it won't be that bad. Me, Sam, Mike, Puck, and Artie do it all the time."

"Yeah, well, big surprise there," said Strando acidly.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" asked Finn.

"It means we all know Abrams is only on the team 'cause Coach felt sorry for him, Puckerman's been castrated by that fat chick on the wrestling team, and you  _live_ with that fag Hummel—"

Strando didn't get to finish, because suddenly Finn and Puck had him up against the lockers. All at once, the locker room was one big brawl, and nobody could hear Coach Beiste yelling over the rest. Finally, though, she managed to fight through the tangle of bodies to pull the boys apart. Her face was red with fury.

"That is  _enough,"_ she said angrily. "I have had enough of it from all you guys. You're supposed to be the best there is in this school, the role models. Well, God help us if  _you_ are the people the rest are looking up to. You think I don't see what goes down in those hallways? You think I don't know how often one of you sends some poor kid to class covered in crushed ice or garbage, or smelling like a porta-potty? And why? Because he's different, because he doesn't live up to your standards for what's 'cool?' And the rest of you just put up with it. Why? So you won't have to deal with it? So you can stay 'cool' too? I'm here to tell you right now, not  _one_ of you is cool in my book from this moment forward. Not until you show me otherwise." She turned to Strando, who was still leaning against the lockers.

"If I ever hear that word outta your mouth again, you'll be lucky if I let you play the esteemed position of waterboy as long as you're at this school. The same goes for the rest of ya." She pointed at Puck and Finn. "Hudson, Puckerman, you have a problem with another team member, you come to me and let  _me_ handle it, understand?" Finally, she addressed the rest of them, her voice lowering but not losing its edge. "You guys are supposed to be a team. No matter what your differences are, even if sometimes you hate each other. During practice, in this locker room, on that field—you keep your head in the game and leave the rest of your crap at the door."

She looked around at all the boys in the room, locking eyes with each of them. Then, she made a decision.

"That's one thing Will Shuester has taught his Glee kids that you have  _never_  been able to learn. I've waited around, hoping you'd all be able to work it out, but now I'm done waiting. You need to see how a real team works together. From this point forward, until the game, you are all the newest members of the Glee club."

She paused, ready to shush the inevitable grumbling and arguing, but there was none. Even Strando, Azimio, and Karofsky—the three she would have expected the most lip from—stayed quiet. Most of the team was looking at the floor, ashamed.

"We will go to their practices, and we will learn the routines for the halftime show. You will all show Will Shuester and the members of the Glee club the same respect you show me, and hopefully more respect than you show each other. Practices will be moved back an hour and a half every evening. Anyone who doesn't show up for Glee shouldn't bother showing up for practice, either. This is not optional."

Dave looked at her, disbelieving. He'd been quiet so far, but now he had to say something. "So, what if nobody shows up? Without us you have no team."

" _With_ you I have no team, the way you all act right now." Dave shook his head at her. There was no way he could endure a week and a half of Glee club with Kurt.

"You won't pull us all, not right before the championship game." Beiste gave him a cold look that brooked no argument.

"Try me."

* * *

Kurt opened his front door to find Dave standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes on his shoes. He shot Kurt a little smile, but he could see it was forced.

"Hey. Can I come in?"

Kurt moved aside and motioned for Dave to enter. He did, and they immediately headed for the basement, pausing to say hello to Burt as they passed the living room. Dave was silent as they descended the stairs, and Kurt wondered what was on his mind. Actually, he _knew_ what was on his mind; Finn had told him all about the fiasco at football practice. He'd made Kurt promise not to say anything to anyone in Glee about it yet, and Kurt hadn't. He was torn between anticipation and fear; on the one hand, he couldn't  _wait_ to see some of those jerks on the football team try to master a dance routine again. On the other, he was terrified of how David would react. Would he be angry? Would he freak out? Would he go back to being a jerk to Kurt in public, just to save face? Kurt wasn't sure he could handle that.  _Looks like I'm about to find out,_ he thought as he turned to his secret boyfriend. Dave took a deep breath, and then looked him in the eyes. He looked lost.

"Kurt, I have to be in Glee club until the championship game." His voice sounded somewhere between pleading and terrified. Kurt nodded.

"I know. Finn told me."

"Yeah? Well, I…I'm not sure how I'm gonna do that." He sat heavily on Kurt's bed, dropping his head to his hands. Kurt sat down beside him and placed a comforting hand tentatively on his shoulder.

"It'll be fine, David. If Finn can manage to learn dance steps, you have nothing to worry about." Dave looked over at him disbelievingly.

"Seriously? You think I'm worried I'll be a terrible dancer?" Kurt smiled ruefully.

"No. I know you're worried what people will think. But I don't know that your worry is justified. After all, won't the rest of the football team be dancing right beside you? You can just blend into the crowd."  _As usual,_ he kept himself from saying, with maybe just a little more effort than should have been necessary. Dave sighed, exasperated.

"I'm not worried about  _that,_ either," he said. "How in the world am I gonna be in a classroom with you every day for a week and a half and  _not_ out myself? I can barely make it through lunchtime without slipping up and forgetting. You know I almost reached over and held your hand today, in front of everybody? It's like it's a reflex or something."

Kurt felt warm all over, and he had to bite back a grin. His anxiety disappeared, and the instinct to be bitchy went with it.

"It'll be okay, Dave. It won't be easy, but you'll make it. After all, you pretended to hate me for over a year, right?" He was amazed at the complete lack of bitterness he heard in his own voice. Dave made up for it; the sound that escaped his lips was the most sardonic laughter Kurt had ever heard.

"Sure, I pretended to hate you, but that was a total lie. Lying sucks, and it's hard, but compared to this? Compared to pretending to  _like_ you, to be your friend, when how I feel about you is so much stronger than that? It's awful. It makes lying look like a fucking cake walk."  _Plus, back then I was lying to myself, too. Now I_ know  _how much you mean to me._

Kurt wrapped his arms around Dave, resting his cheek against his shoulder and breathing in deeply. He wanted to leap at the opportunity Dave had just handed him, tell him to just tell the whole truth, then, get it off his chest and come out.  _You love him,_ he chastised himself,  _so let him do this his way, at his own pace. Nobody shoved you out of the closet, and it was still terrifying. Try to remember that, and don't do it to him either._

"I'll help you," he said softly. "I'll stay as far away as I can during practice. You're taller, so we'll probably be pretty far away from one another in the routine formation anyway. We'll have costumes and stage makeup that the Glee club will probably have to help the football team with, but I'll ask Tina, Mercedes, or Melodie to help you with yours, just to be sure it won't end up being me."

Dave looked at him with the most heartbreaking mixture of sadness, guilt, and gratitude in his eyes.

"Kurt," he said softly. Kurt shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand.

"Don't even," he said firmly. "I hear the apology on its way out, and I don't want it. I'll help you keep your secret for now, David. Just please…don't forget what you promised me. That's all I ask." Dave nodded, and Kurt removed his hand, leaning forward to kiss the sadness out of his boyfriend's eyes.

 _We'll get through this,_ he thought, just before the feel of Dave's lips and hands on his skin drove all words from his mind completely.  _We'll get through it together._

* * *

Thursday

The next day passed in a blur, and Dave found he could only be grateful. From the time he and Melodie got out of the car at school to the time he threw himself, exhausted, into his bed, he barely had a moment to think about anything extraneous. Classes, homework, Glee club, and football practice made sure of that.

Thursday afternoon was intense. To Dave's surprise, there was very little resistance on the part of the Glee club to the idea of the football team joining them for the halftime show, even though he knew Mr. Shue hadn't discussed it with them yet. But then again, Finn, Puck, Artie, Mike, and Sam had already known, and he saw the smiles that Tina, Rachel, Mercedes, and even his brat cousin shot him as he slouched in with the rest of the team, so maybe they were willing to give the whole thing a chance because of him. He felt inexplicably happy at the thought. Lauren Zizes, the newest member of the club and Puck's new girlfriend to boot, raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything, and Brittany, Santana, and Quinn just raised their eyebrows, clearly thinking something along the lines of "well, this should be interesting."

The practice wasn't brutal, but it  _was_  embarrassing. After explaining that they'd be doing a mash-up of "Thriller" and "Heads Will Roll," Mr. Shuester marched them down the hall to the auditorium for "zombie camp" and divided them into teams, with members of the Glee club scattered throughout. Dave felt like an idiot, and tried not to think about how stupid Kurt must be thinking he looked right then.  _He's going to realize what a meatheaded jock I really am and dump me for sure,_ he thought with a pang as he tried, once more, to get his body to move the way Mike's did as he showed them the dance steps for the fourth time. Dave snuck a look at Kurt's group, which consisted of Azimio, Finn—who seemed to count as a football player instead of a Gleek in this instance—and three other guys. Kurt was looking at him too, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Dave looked away quickly, fighting his own smile, and tried to concentrate on the dance steps. He didn't see that Azimio had noticed the exchange.

After about an hour of sucking royally at zombie dancing, the team went to practice. Dave questioned whether any of the other guys felt looser, lighter on their feet, the way he did. He wondered if it was from the dancing before putting it out of his mind and focusing on the task at hand. Beiste showed no mercy and had them practice the full two hours even though they didn't even start until after 4:30. Thankfully, Melodie had gotten a ride home with Kurt, so at least he didn't have her sitting on the sidelines, scowling about being kept waiting so long. He also liked having the car ride home to himself for a change, especially since it was the only time to himself he'd gotten all day.

Dave got home a little after seven and managed to scarf down dinner and do most of his homework before finally, he was too tired to stay awake any longer. He crawled into bed and turned off his light, settling down into the covers and thinking of the way Kurt had smiled at him as he waited for sleep to come. It didn't keep him waiting long.

* * *

Friday

Friday was even more exhausting than Thursday, but it was better, too. During Glee, Dave thought he was already starting to get the hang of some of the dance steps. He also didn't have to work so hard to keep from watching Kurt, because halfway through the practice Mr. Shue had pulled Kurt aside and said something to him, after which he went off with Santana and Finn, presumably to practice elsewhere. Football was still brutal, but at least it left Dave too tired to think too much on his way home. Kurt had been texting him the entire day, making him feel both loved and perpetually on-edge, worried someone was going to notice him texting back and ask who was making him grin like an idiot. He almost wanted to ask Kurt if they could tone down the texting, but just the thought of the look that would put on Kurt's face stopped him. When the conversation continued through dinner and well into his homework, he found himself eternally grateful for his unlimited plan.

 _Now, is working with us Gleeks really so bad?_ Dave smiled down at the latest message and typed a response before going back to the calculus homework that was giving him a severe case of brain-ache.

_Absolute torture. No wonder you're so thick-skinned. To survive in Glee club I'd either need an ironclad superiority complex or I'd have to actually LIKE feeling bad about myself._

Kurt's response wasn't long in coming.

_Most of us have a bit of both, I think. But what are you talking about? You were one of the best dancers in your group._

_Whatever, Fancy. Chang totally showed me up._

_Uh, Dave? Mike shows EVERYBODY up when it comes to dancing, even Brittany. He's practically made of rubber. At least you didn't manage to trip over your own two feet and pull the stage curtain off its rings when you tried to keep from falling._

Dave snickered at that, and typed back.

_Yeah…I'm pretty sure whatever special mojo Chang has, Hudson has the opposite. His mom must have pissed off an evil fairy when he was born or something._

_An evil fairy? David Allen Karofsky, was that a gay joke?_

This time Dave practically guffawed. He knew Kurt wasn't serious. He took a second to marvel at the fact that his boyfriend could be so lighthearted about the way Dave used to treat him. Once again, he was hit with the overwhelming fact of how little he deserved to be loved by Kurt Hummel.

_Just an innocent Disney reference? Would I make such a joke? Besides, I'd never call you a fairy. You're more like a princess, anyway. And I guess that makes me the frog._

_I am NOT a princess. I'm a prince. And you're not a frog. More like a knight, or a surly stable hand._

_Kinky._

_David! You're making me blush._

_I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. I love it when you blush._

His phone rang. He picked it up and checked the caller ID, even though he had a sneaking suspicion about who'd be calling. Sure enough, it was Kurt. He hit the "answer" button.

"Ribbit," he said casually.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was trying to reach Dave Karofsky, but it seems I dialed Mr. Toad instead. I'll be going now…" Dave laughed.

"What's up?" He said.

"Not much," Kurt replied airily. "You were just getting a little rakish with your texts, and I thought I'd call you before you led me astray into sexting territory."

Dave blushed, but tried to keep his voice teasing and flirty.

"So…what? You figured you'd skip right to phone sex instead?"

"David!" Kurt practically squealed at him, and Dave could just imagine his boyfriend blushing like mad. "That's not—I don't even—I've never—" Dave laughed again.

"Relax, Kurt, calm down. I wasn't serious."  _But I wouldn't mind._

He heard Kurt take a breath. "It's not that…I mean, it's not that I wouldn't  _want_ to. Hypothetically. Eventually. Later. It's just that I'm not very…umm…experienced?" He could practically  _hear_ Kurt cringing. He smiled, even though his own face was probably beet red at the moment.

"I know," he said softly. "You think I am? You're my very first boyfriend, remember?"

"But what about…" Kurt stopped, and Dave heard him clear his throat softly. "So you never did anything with a girl, even?" Now Dave  _knew_ his face was bright red. He could feel the heat of it stinging his cheeks.

"Um. No. I mean, I made out with…with Brittany Pierce. Once." He grimaced, waiting for Kurt to be shocked, but to his surprise, Kurt laughed.

"Really? That's amazing.  _I_  made out with Brittany."  _That_ had Dave sitting bolt upright in his chair.

"Seriously? Brittany Pierce? The Cheerio?"

"Mmhmm," Kurt said, sounding oddly proud of himself. "Last year. When Finn's mom and my dad got together, Dad bonded with Finn, and I got jealous. I thought it was proof I wasn't the son he really wanted, so I tried to act straight. Brittany fell for it, and she asked if we could kiss because apparently I was the only guy in the school she  _hadn't_ made out with, and she wanted a perfect record. She was my first kiss, I suppose, if we're counting girls. My first and only straight kiss."

"And I was your second. Your first gay kiss," said Dave, wincing a little at the memory. "Fancy, you have some seriously rotten luck."

"My first and  _only_ gay kiss, Dave," Kurt replied after a moment. "And I don't know. In retrospect, I think I'm the luckiest guy in the world."

"Right," Dave said. "I remember your face. Vividly. You were horrified."

"Well, I was scared of you," Kurt said, the way he might say 'well, I went shopping yesterday.' "That kiss came out of nowhere. I thought you hated me. And then there you were kissing me. I was terrified."

"I'm s—" Dave started.

"David, you apologized months ago, there's no need. In case you haven't noticed, I have absolutely no problem kissing you  _now."_

Dave didn't know what to say to that. Kurt seemed to sense he was at a loss for words.

"Don't get me wrong, that first kiss was totally out of line. I didn't ask for it, and I didn't want it. But I seem to remember that when I made it clear I didn't want another kiss, you didn't force one on me. You left. And ever since, I've never had a kiss from you I didn't want. In fact, it's much more usual that I  _want_  to kiss you and I'm unable to."

Dave winced at that.

"I know, Kurt. I'm sorry. I really am trying, you know. My mom already knows and she hasn't done anything. She hasn't even mentioned it to me. Maybe…" he paused and took a deep breath. "Maybe I can tell my dad. Maybe after the championship game is over."

There was a moment of silence from the phone, and Dave wondered for a second if it had dropped the call. Then he heard Kurt's sharp intake of breath.

"R-really?" He sounded breathless. "David, really?"

"Really," Dave said, although the idea had his stomach in knots. He could hear the happiness in Kurt's voice, and it helped. Surely anything that made Kurt sound that happy had to be a fantastic idea.

"Oh my God, Dave. I love you. Please, can you come over right now? You can't just drop something like that on me over the phone, I want to see you."

Dave glanced at the clock. It was almost 9:30, but he figured his parents wouldn't mind if he told them he needed some homework help.

"I'll be right over," he said, already smiling in anticipation. He could forget about Glee club and football colliding for awhile, and he could forget that he'd basically just agreed to come out to his father after the upcoming championship. With the possibility of seeing Kurt, and of being at the Hummels' house where he didn't have to pretend, immediately before him, he found he could push everything aside for awhile, breathe easier, and just be happy.


	25. The Big Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some homophobic attitudes and language.

A balanced diet of homework, football practice, Glee practice, and Kurt turned out to be quite effective at keeping Dave's mind off his various and sundry worries and insecurities over the next week. He fell into a routine and stuck to it, trying to live entirely in the moment and not think about the future as much as possible. This worked well as long as he could manage to exhaust himself enough during the day that he fell asleep immediately at night, with no dead time left for thinking. So when he  _did_ find himself with a little down time on Wednesday during study hall, he was surprised at the things that jumped to the forefront of his mind.

The Glee club and the football players seemed to be getting along really well. Once the football team got off their collective high horse long enough to try something new and saw that what the Glee club did actually took some effort and quite a bit of skill, their whole attitude towards the Gleeks seemed to change. He'd noticed Azimio laughing with Mercedes and Tina, seen at least one guy get the evil eye from Sam because he wouldn't stop staring at Melodie—which he personally didn't get, but whatever—and he'd even noticed Strando and the other guys in Kurt's group genuinely laughing at one of Kurt's jokes. Watching them all come together…it gave him hope. He began to think that maybe he really could come out to them soon, and it wouldn't be a big deal. Now that they saw Kurt wasn't out to "molest and convert" them, as he'd once put it, maybe the idea of a teammate being gay wouldn't freak them out. He tried to tell himself he was dreaming, but watching the proof learning dance steps together all around him made it hard to stay pessimistic.

Still, he really didn't want to go onto the football field untested and make a fool out of himself. At the same time, he didn't want to chicken out and disappoint Kurt, so he devised a brilliant plan. That afternoon, after practice, he approached Finn.

"Hey, Hudson?" Finn turned to him with a wary expression, one hand still working at cleaning off the thick zombie makeup on his cheek.

"Yeah Karofsky?" Finn knew about him and Kurt, sure, and he'd even been mostly okay with it, encouraged the guy to go after what he wanted. Over Christmas break, they'd kind of bonded. That didn't mean he'd completely forgotten how Karofsky used to treat his stepbrother, and that didn't mean he was totally ready to trust the guy, no matter how many months it had been since he'd done anything to hurt anyone in Glee.

"Um, I was thinkin'…if we're gonna do this, shouldn't we maybe do a practice run? Just something to get all the guys used to performing? I figure the only way we're not gonna get our asses kicked for dancing and singing is if we totally rock at it."

Finn looked surprised, then pleased.

"Yeah…that's actually a pretty good idea. Okay."

That's how they ended up standing in the auditorium during their lunch hour in full zombie makeup and their costumes, shuffling across the stage as Finn sang out the words to "She's Not There." Dave couldn't lie; he really enjoyed himself. It felt  _good_ to be good at something new, and he had to smile at the way Kurt looked at him when Finn mentioned he'd been the one to suggest a practice number. The kisses Kurt bestowed on him later that evening had been epic, truly swoon-inducing, so much so that he hadn't even felt like a total girl for wanting to swoon when his boyfriend kissed him. It was totally worth it.

Of course, the slushie facial he and the rest of the team received as they left the auditorium to get to their next classes kind of sucked. One minute they were walking down the hallway, feeling badass and amazing, ready for anything…and the next, Dave felt unpleasantly as though he'd been bitch-slapped by an iceberg, and found that he was covered in ice and sticky red liquid. He stifled a cry and blinked furiously, trying to stop the burning sensation in his eyes. Around him he heard similar shouts of pain and outrage, intermingled with the fading sounds of laughter from the puckheads retreating down the hall. He floundered in place for a minute, unable to see where he was going. At the same time, he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach; he'd gotten a slushie facial once before, but getting another one just reminded him, once more, of how many he'd put Kurt and the rest of the Glee club through. He grimaced, and it wasn't from the pain in his eyes.

But this slushie facial was different from the first. Suddenly, he felt a hand on each of his arms, and someone was guiding him down the hall. A soft voice spoke from the vicinity of his solar plexus:

"Come on, David. We'll get you guys cleaned up."

"Rachel?" he sputtered. She squeezed his arm. "Who's on my other side?"

"I've got your back, big guy," said Santana Lopez in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. You could have knocked Dave over with a feather.

* * *

Several minutes later, Dave was finally able to open his eyes all the way. They still burned, and his vision was a little blurry, but at least he could see.

He was in the locker room, sitting on a bench beside Rachel Berry, who was helping him get all the slushie out of his hair. Across the room, Lauren Zizes was rinsing Puck's Mohawk off carefully, grinning like a shark at him the whole time. And Kurt…he was helping out one of the guys from his group, but his eyes kept flickering over to Dave. Catching his boyfriend's gaze, he gave him an apologetic smile. Kurt just smiled crookedly back and shook his head minutely, rolling his eyes around the room as if to say,  _look._ Dave did.

What he saw astounded him. Glee clubbers and football players were huddled in little groups of two or three, the Gleeks helping the team rid themselves of the slushie while the football players looked grateful, guilty, and apologetic by turns. Mercedes was smiling indulgently as she blotted at the stains on a sheepish-looking Azimio's shoulders. Rashad and Strando were getting help from Brittany and Tina. Strando looked crestfallen, like he'd had an unpleasant realization. Dave let out a bitter chuckle.

"Finally hit upon the humorous irony of the situation, Dave?" Rachel asked softly. He turned back to her and grimaced.

"I found the irony the first time it happened to me. The humor took a little longer. I'm so sorry any of us ever did this to you guys." The petite girl shrugged.

"Nobody really knows how bad it is until it happens to them. Pain's funny that way. I forgive you."

"Seriously? Just like that?"

"No, not just like that," she said. "In case you haven't noticed, it's been a few months since you actually did anything to hurt me or mine. In that time, I've gotten a chance to see you outside of your bully persona, and I like what I see. You're a good person, Dave, you just did some bad things. Nothing worse than what Finn or Noah ever did to me."

"Oh yeah. I'd almost forgot Puck and Finn used to do this crap too." Rachel let out a little snuffling laugh.

"Well, Finn never slushied anyone. I guess you could say he did the bare minimum amount of bullying required to fit in, but I don't think he ever enjoyed it the way Noah did. It's one of the things I love about him." Her voice sounded sad.

"You really miss him, huh?" She cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter, suddenly all business.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Now hold still; there's still some slushie in your hair."

* * *

Dave should have known there'd be fallout from the slushie attack, but he didn't think it would be this bad. Granted, the fact that Sue gave the Cheerios an ultimatum that caused Quinn, Santana, and Brittany to bail at the last minute probably didn't help things any.

"Nah, man, I ain't goin' out there tomorrow just to be laughed at. I've been thinkin'…it's the championship game and we have a really good chance to win this. No way is Coach gonna pull us all just because we refuse to do some stupid halftime show with Homo Explosion."

Dave winced and spun around, the words out before he had a chance to stop them.

"Shut the fuck up, Strando," he growled. Strando looked at him like he was crazy.

"What the hell, man? You defending the Gleeks now?"

"In case you didn't notice, those Gleeks dragged your ass in here and cleaned slushie off your face the other day and never even  _mentioned_ that we all deserved a taste of our own medicine for being such assholes to them for two years."

The guys around Strando looked a little crestfallen, and Dave thought he saw a flicker of something in the outspoken boy's eyes for a second, too. Then it was gone, and the stubborn mask was back.

"Damn, looks like singing and dancing really  _can_  turn anyone gay. Well thanks, but I'm not feeling this big coming out party."

Dave felt like he'd been slapped. He clenched his fists and took a step toward Strando, but then he felt someone at his shoulder. It was Puck.

"You guys are seriously gonna throw away the chance to win the  _championship game_ just because you're afraid someone's gonna…what? Call you a loser? Say you're gay? Kurt's gay, and he single-handedly got us the first win we'd had in over a decade last year. Now we have the chance to be more than just Lima Losers, and you're ready to settle for being nothing so some losers who'll be lucky to even graduate won't pick on you? Go ahead, but I'm gonna be on that field, bustin' a move and then kicking some ass."

"Well spoken, Puckerman," said a voice from the door. The guys turned to see Beiste standing there, fists on her hips. "And for the record, Strando, I'll tell you what I told Karofsky before we started this: it is not an option. If you're not planning to be on that field for halftime, you shouldn't even bother showing up for the game. I wanna win this as badly as you all do, I'm sure. But there are things more important than winning a championship, and teaching you something about respect is one of them. Now shut your yaps and get your butts on that field, we're burnin' daylight."

They filed out past her, slowly, until Dave was alone in the room, staring at the floor. Coach Beiste looked at him curiously.

"Dave?" He jerked his head up. She never called him by his first name. Her expression was unusually gentle.

"I know it bothers you, the things they say about your friends in Glee. I've been really proud of you these past few weeks, seeing how you've changed. I think those Glee kids have been a really good influence on you. If your other friends don't see that, maybe they're not the friends you should be hangin' onto."

He nodded mutely, his brain a jumble of pain and uncertainty.

"Get on the field, kid. We got a game to win tomorrow."

* * *

"David, what's the matter? You've been quiet all evening." Dave didn't meet Kurt's eyes.

"We've been watching a movie since I got here," he said gruffly. Kurt paused the movie and scooted closer to his boyfriend, reaching a hand out to touch his face. Dave reluctantly met his eyes, and forced a smile.

"Nothin', Fancy," he said. "Just got a lot on my mind."

"Is it about the game tomorrow?"

"Uh, you could say that," Dave said. Kurt wasn't fooled for a second.

"Is it about what we talked about? With your dad?" Dave's eyes tightened just the tiniest bit.

"No," he said, turning away. "Can we finish the movie?"

Kurt looked upset, but he pressed 'play' without further comment, and snuggled up to Dave to watch. He wasn't comfortable there, though; Dave was sitting so stiffly. Usually he'd lounge a bit, and Kurt always loved the way they fit together so perfectly. Tonight they were like puzzle pieces warped by being thrown into water. No matter how he shifted, Kurt couldn't seem to get situated. Finally he sighed in exasperation and sat up, leaning against the armrest on his side of the little couch instead. To his dismay, Dave didn't object, or even seem to notice. He just continued to sit ramrod straight and facing forward, staring intently at the screen. Kurt bit his lip, feeling an uncomfortable ache start in his stomach. He tried to ignore it and just enjoy the movie.  _We can talk when it's over,_ he thought.

But as soon as the credits started to roll, Dave stood up and stretched.

"I'd better get home," he said, running his hand through the back of his hair the way he always did when he was nervous or anxious about something. Kurt stood up, fighting the stinging behind his eyes.  _He's just tired, that's all. He has a big day tomorrow._ That didn't change the fact that Dave had  _never,_ from the day they'd first started dating, wanted to leave before he absolutely had to. Even then, he'd never actually  _wanted_ to go, yet now here he was, edging toward the stairs and looking like he was about to bolt without even a good-bye kiss.

"David Allen Karofksy," Kurt said softly but firmly. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Dave's waist, looking up into his face. "You aren't going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong." Dave smiled down at him, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Nothing's wrong, Kurt. I told you. I'm just tired, and I'm a little nervous about tomorrow. I've never danced in front of a bunch of people before. Even the warm-up performance was just the Glee club and Mr. Shue."

"Don't worry, Dave," Kurt said, smiling despite the lump in his throat. Dave was lying to him. "You're going to be amazing, and we're going to  _win._ I know it."

Dave wanted to cry looking at the boy who was holding him. He was so beautiful, so perfect and wonderful and forgiving and utterly  _naïve._ He had no idea that nothing had changed. Dave could kick himself for being stupid enough to think it had; he couldn't bring himself to dispel Kurt's lovely illusion. It had been his, too, for a couple of days. He'd really, truly thought that singing a song and doing a dance was going to make a difference in the way things worked, that it would erase some of the lines that had been drawn and dispel some of the ignorance. Those few minutes in the locker room had brought him back down to Earth. Even after laughing with Kurt, talking to him, working with him and getting to know him, that asshole Strando was still willing to make fun of him behind his back. Dave didn't want Kurt to know; he wanted his headx to stay in the clouds a little longer.  _Forever, if I had anything to say about it,_ he thought idly.  _I wonder whether I could get him all the way to graduation without ever finding out what a bunch of douchebags most people really are?_

He was pretty sure the odds were against him. He wrapped his arms around Kurt and hugged him briefly, placing a tender kiss to his forehead. Kurt felt the sadness in the gesture, and wanted to ask. He didn't want Dave to lie to him again, though, so he just smiled and returned the embrace and the kiss, and then saw his boyfriend to the door. His eyes stung as he watched Dave walk down the driveway, get in his truck and drive away. They watered a little as he returned to his room to get a late start on his homework, but he didn't cry. Not really.

* * *

Kurt, dressed very uncharacteristically in regular jeans, a white t-shirt, and a letterman jacket, stepped tentatively down the bleachers, one white-knuckled hand clutching the railing as he squinted into the darkness, trying to make anything out, anything at all. The flashlight he carried barely illuminated a circle of light large enough for him to stand in, forget actually penetrating the solid wall of black beyond enough for him to see. There was a quiet murmuring of disembodied voices all around him, and he felt a chill shoot down his spine. Letting out a terrified squeak, he stumbled the rest of the way down the dark steps, stopping just before he set foot onto the track that ran around the field.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he called out across the dark, empty football field, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"H-hello? Hello? Is…is anyone there?"

There was no answer, and the murmurs went suddenly silent.

"Hello? Hellooooo! Is anyone there? Hello?" His voice echoed in the eerie stillness, and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as he stepped onto the field, peering anxiously into the wall of darkness on his left and right, unable to shake the feeling that he wasn't alone.

He continued calling out as he walked, coming closer and closer to the center of the football field, walking a little faster but forcing himself not to lose his nerve and break into a run. The journey couldn't have taken more than a couple of minutes, but it felt like hours. He stopped cold in the middle of the field, jerking his head to the left, where he was sure he'd just heard a sound. Slowly, he forced himself to unwrap his arms, letting them hang loose at his sides, trying to put a confidence in his posture that he definitely didn't feel. Turning slowly on the spot until he was once again facing the stands, he called out one more time, his voice sounding tiny in the vast space.

"…hello?"

That's when the entire football field was suddenly flooded with light, revealing the ghastly rows of decaying, reanimated bodies clad in a strange assortment of football uniforms and formalwear, all facing Kurt with an identical, hungry gleam in their eyes. Kurt stumbled backward at the sight, only to hear a shuddering groan behind him. He spun around to find more of them, surrounding him on every side, closing in on him, preparing to eat him alive.

Kurt let out an ear-splitting scream. At the sound, the zombies stumbled backward, falling into a staggered formation, and one of them—a dead Latina in formalwear with wild hair—opened its mouth as music blared out over the loudspeakers.

"Off with your head! Dance, dance, dance till you're dead!"

The zombies broke into a jerky, shuffling dance, moving about the field in perfect synchronization, faces slack and eyes staring as the music swept around them and through the crowd in the stands. They were on their feet already and cheering, swaying to the beat and singing along as the football team and the Glee club put everything they had into the performance down on the field.

Dave had never had so much fun in his life. The score was tied at halftime, and he just  _knew_ they could overshoot the other team in the second half. He was totally in the zone, his body switching over effortlessly from football to dancing, hitting every move just right. The only difficult part was keeping the smile off his face; for once in his life, he was exactly where he wanted to be, doing exactly what he wanted to be doing out in the open, in front of everybody, and they were cheering him on for it. He could see his parents in the stands, his mother bobbing her head to the music and grinning, his father laughing and clapping along to the beat, both of them looking happy and proud. He resisted the impulse to jump up and down and wave to get their attention like a little kid.

Before he knew it, it was over, but the amazing feeling didn't leave. If anything, it intensified as Coach Beiste looked at them proudly and told them to leave the zombie makeup on for the second half. Dave grinned wickedly; he knew the other team would be totally freaked out. He was right, of course.

The team played better than they ever had; it was like they were all connected on a whole other level. Like Coach Beiste had said, they left all their differences and other crap on the sidelines and played like a single unit. Dave blocked everything they sent in Finn's direction, and when the time ran out they were ten points ahead of the other team.

It took a full second for the truth to set in: they had won. The Lima Losers had won the championship for the first time in living memory. Then, the stands exploded, and the rest was utter chaos.

It was like something out of one of those cheesy sports movies. The blinding lights, the frantic press of bodies, everyone hugging everyone else, slapping one another on the back and screaming themselves hoarse. The Glee club took to the field to join in the celebration, followed by what looked like half the people in the stands. Dave was half-blinded by the sweat dripping into his eyes and blending in with the tears of happiness and pride, stinging as they spilled over and rolled down his cheeks, streaking the dirt and zombie makeup. Everything was just a bright, loud, colorful blur. He blinked several times, unable to wipe the huge grin off his face. The world came into focus, and then everything seemed to slow down and get quiet.

Suddenly all he could see was Kurt, running full-tilt towards him wearing the biggest smile, hair falling into his eyes, letterman jacket open and flapping, the ever-present scarf around his neck coming unraveled and flying out behind him. Everything about him stood out in excruciating detail, and everything behind him was just a meaningless blur. He was screaming Dave's name interspersed with "we won! We won!" and waving his arms like a crazy person, all dignity and reserve forgotten for the moment. Dave shoved his way out of the tangle of bodies surrounding him, moving towards Kurt as fast as he could, pulling his helmet off and just letting it drop—

—and Kurt slammed into him, wrapping his arms around him and still screaming his name, probably ruining his singing voice in the process. Dave didn't stop to think; he did the first thing that came into his mind, and it was the most natural thing in the world. He wrapped both arms around the slender waist of the boy pressed up against him and spun him around, lifting him into the air and laughing out loud as Kurt squealed in surprise. Once, twice, three times, and then he returned Kurt's feet to the ground, arms still around his waist, both of them trying to catch their breath as he looked down into those beautiful eyes, thinking  _God, he's perfect,_ and  _God, I'm so lucky,_ and  _This is the moment I'll remember for the rest of my life,_ and about a million other incredibly cheesy things that couldn't even begin to approach doing justice to the elation he felt for those brief, precious moments before reality began to assert itself and a sick, creeping sort of horror stole its way in.

He was standing on the football field at McKinley High, in front of the whole football team, most of the school, his parents, and half the town, with his arms wrapped around Kurt Hummel in a way that anyone would be hard-pressed to call platonic or friendly.

Suddenly, the noises of the crowd around him came back in full force, and everything was too bright, too loud, and too close for comfort. His arms dropped from around Kurt's waist and he stepped back, cheeks burning and eyes suddenly looking like a hunted animal's.

"Dave—" Kurt said pleadingly, reaching a trembling hand towards him. David stumbled back from it, knocking into a knot of bodies behind him without even registering it. The happy flush was gone from Kurt's cheeks abruptly, his eyes looked scared and like they were about to overflow with tears, and Dave wanted more than anything to just wrap his arms back around him and tell him it was okay. In that moment, he wanted so badly to show Kurt that he loved him, and wasn't ashamed of him, because he really  _wasn't_ ashamed.

He was just afraid.

He turned and ran, shoving people out of his way as he went, closing his eyes against the celebration still going on all around him. Suddenly he didn't feel at all like celebrating, he just wanted this night to be over. He wanted to go home and go to bed, pretend none of it had ever happened. He thought he heard someone calling his name, but he ignored them, pushing through to the edge of the crowd on the field and then practically sprinting towards the relative dark and quiet of the locker rooms, anxious to be away from everything so he could clear his head and  _think_.

Behind him, still surrounded by a throng of oblivious McKinley students all shouting their victory to the night sky, Kurt just stood where Dave had left him, hands hanging limply at his sides, looking stricken.

* * *

Dave was about ten seconds from a full-on panic attack when Azimio found him in the locker room. He'd watched the whole thing, and unlike Kurt, who, aside from looking like he was paralyzed on the spot when Azimio'd last seen him anyway, couldn't be expected to fight his way out of that kind of throng with any sort of efficiency, Azimio had the advantage of the kind of bulk people moved for. He followed Dave to the locker room, stopping just outside the door, out of Dave's sight, watching his friend punch his locker repeatedly before collapsing on one of the benches, his head in his hands and his breath coming in loud, shaky gasps. He stared at the top of Dave's head for a minute, trying to reconcile pity with anger. This whole thing, all the anxiety…it seemed so pointless. Dave didn't  _have_ to go through it. Sure, maybe some of the guys on the team would give him a hard time if they knew, but he was David fucking Karofsky. He was a big dude, and a couple months of being nice to the Gleeks hadn't been nearly enough to erase his reputation as a guy you really didn't want to mess with.  _What the hell are you so scared of, man?_

He needed Dave to just tell him. He could tell Dave he knew, but it pissed him off—and yeah, okay, it hurt him too—that Dave didn't know he could trust him more than this. He knew his best friend well enough to know the secret was eating him alive, and he also knew how stubborn and dense Dave could be. What was  _most_  frustrating was that he was torturing himself like this so needlessly. Azimio felt anger winning out over pity.  _Can't tell me the truth, man? Fine. Guess I'll just have to force it outta you._ He stepped into the room, trying to act like he'd just gotten there.

"Dude, what was that?"

Dave grimaced at the floor, forcing himself to calm his breathing.  _Can't anything just go right tonight?_ "What was what?"

"Uh, that little love-fest between you and Hummel out on the field?" Dave's breath caught; of course someone had noticed, and it was just his shit luck that it had to be Azimio. He looked up at his friend, willing his expression to stay neutral. Az was standing over him, looked confused and a little pissed off. Add the zombie make-up, and the effect was pretty scary.

"Nothin', man. Kurt was just excited we won the game, alright?"

" _Kurt_? Since when are you guys friends? Since when do you hang out with Gleeks and ditch me at lunch to sit with  _Kurt_ and his harem of freak-show girlfriends?" Azimio saw the way Dave's eyes tightened at the insult, and he felt a little bad for knocking Mercedes like that. She'd been pretty cool, considering how much of an asshole he'd been to her in the past.  _Desperate times call for desperate measures._  Surely, Dave wouldn't just let him off the hook for insulting his friends like that?

"Hey, I've watched you dance around with those freak-show girlfriends all week just like I did. You didn't seem to mind so much when Mercedes Jones was helping you with your dance steps." Azimio's cheeks darkened a bit.  _That_ certainly wasn't the reaction he was going for, but he wasn't backing down.

"Whatever man, I did what I had to do to stay on the football team and play in the championship game, but you? You've been blowing me off to hang out with Hummel for  _weeks_ now. I see you chatting him up at his locker like every other day. Are you guys boyfriends now or somethin'?"  _Just tell me the truth, so I can tell you it's okay._

It was Friday with Strando all over again: Azimio's words hit Dave like a slap in the face. Of course he couldn't just be  _friends_ with Kurt. He'd been doing it for weeks now, using Melodie as an excuse and thinking his presumed heterosexuality, his love of sports, his sheer ordinariness would keep him safe, but he realized now how stupid that was. It was almost as naïve as thinking that a week of tolerating each other would be enough to change the way the football players treated the Gleeks. If you hung out with the gay kid, you were gay-by-association _. Especially,_ he thought,  _if you never have a girlfriend to confirm your straightness because you secretly_ are  _gay._

He hated it, hated that he was so afraid and hated that the world was so blind, bigoted and stupid. He wanted to be with Kurt, adored him,  _loved_  him, but he wasn't ready to take that giant leap out of the closet. So he'd told himself he could be nice to Kurt at school and they would all write it off as an unlikely friendship. He should have known better, but he hadn't, and now he was stuck. If he defended Kurt now it would be as good as admitting everything. If he refused to say anything at all, Azimio would draw his own conclusions and Dave would be out of the closet faster than he could say "big gay jock."

He'd told Kurt he would never make fun of him again; he'd promised not to hurt him.  _Then again, Kurt never has to know, right?_ He wasn't there; he was still out on the field. Finn, Sam, Mike, Puck, and Artie were nowhere to be seen, either. He and Azimio were the only people who'd left the field; Dave could still faintly hear the cheering outside, where they were all still probably celebrating like crazy. Dave wished he'd stayed out there now. If he had, maybe this conversation never would have happened and he wouldn't have to betray himself and the boy he was in love with just to save face.

He took a deep breath and tried to find that anger he always used to have in spades, before Kurt stole it away with kisses in the snow and morbid musicals and warm smiles across the table and red sunglasses hooked in his hip pocket. He was surprised to find that it was still there, hidden under all the fear of the past two weeks and the relative peace he'd experienced over Christmas break. He could do this, and make up for it later, and Kurt would never know. He pushed the relief out, holding onto the anger and fueling it with the self-hatred he felt for not having the guts to defend his friends. He sat up and held up his hands in the universal gesture for surrender, but when he spoke his voice was belligerent.

"Look dude, I'm just tryin' to stay outta trouble, alright? You know what my parents would do if they knew I'd been doing some of the shit we pull at school? And Mel  _swore_ she'd tell them all about it if I'm not nice to her and her freak friends." The words burned on the way out, but he had to convince Azimio that nothing had changed, that he was the same. Normal. Tough. Straight.

Az wasn't buying it, though. His glare stayed in place. Dave was too focused on that, and on his own fear, to notice that Azimio's fists weren't clenched, that his stance wasn't aggressive, or that his glare seemed off, like he didn't really mean it. The slight pleading undertone in his voice was so well masked that Dave would have to have been looking for it to hear it, and why on earth would he be looking for something like that?

"Nah, man, somethin' else is goin' on. You're lying to me. I'm your best friend, dude, why don't you just tell me what the hell is up with you?"

 _Because you'd never understand,_ Dave thought to himself.  _Because if you know you won't_ be  _my best friend anymore._ He had to make him believe the lie once and for all, at least for a little while longer. Dave wasn't ready; he'd see how his dad took the news, and if that went alright, maybe eventually he could tell Azimio. Maybe he could tell the football team, or be open with Kurt over the summer, so by the time school started and they were all forced together again it'd be old news. He took a deep breath and stood up, glowering at his friend and getting in his face, letting the bully show the way it hadn't in months. He felt sick.

"Because  _nothing_ is going on, Az. Just fucking drop it, alright?" He said angrily, uselessly. He knew Azimio would never drop it. He'd have to do better, be more convincing. His friend was staring at him with a look Dave had never seen before, and Dave was sure it could only mean one thing: he was figuring it all out, and the moment he did…the moment he got Dave to admit he was gay as a pride parade and in love with Kurt Hummel, their friendship would be over. He grit his teeth for a moment and then let the hateful words fly, trying not to choke on every one.

"I told you, I'm just tryin' to get through this year without my stupid cousin telling my parents I've been messing with people at school and getting me in trouble. I don't  _like_ hanging out with those losers and I don't like being forced to be in Homo Explosion." He took a breath. This was going to hurt. "Hell, I especially don't like hanging out with that fag Hummel but if it gets me by without getting shipped off to military school, I'll take it. Now, is there anything else, or are we done?"

The look Azimio gave him was disconcerting. Dave had no idea if he'd believed him or not, but the glare was gone. His face looked tired all of a sudden, and kind of sad. It made no sense and it scared him. But…

"Yeah, we're done. Whatever man, see you at school." Az went toward the showers without a backward glance.

Dave sank down onto the bench and cradled his forehead in his hands, feeling sick and hating himself.  _I really hope my dad is okay when I tell him. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to do this._ He didn't even know how he was going to look Kurt in the eye after saying those things to Azimio.

Suddenly, he heard a weird noise. He froze, and then slowly raised his head, listening. A moment later, he heard it again: high-pitched, breathy, choked off: the sound of a stifled sob.

 _Oh God. No. No no nononono please God_ no.

Dave turned, forced himself to his feet and made his suddenly wooden legs move, pushing forward until he rounded the row of lockers and could see the door that led from the locker rooms into the school. Someone was standing in the shadows of the short hall outside, leaning against the cinderblock wall for support and looking as if they'd been slapped. Dave moved forward, dread building in his chest, taking in the perfectly done auburn hair, the pale face, the wide, hurt-filled eyes that exactly matched the beautiful scarf wrapped around the slender neck…

He didn't have to ask; one look told him all he needed to know. Kurt had heard everything.

* * *

He felt like his heart was cracking open in his chest. His breathing came in desperate little gasps, and he wrapped both arms around himself tightly, trying to ease some of the pain. The gasping turned to sobs as he stumbled out of the locker room, heading away from the crowd of people still cheering on the field, breaking into a run despite the ache in his lungs. He had to get away from this night; he wished he could run fast enough to escape it all together, make it like it never happened. He wanted to go back to yesterday, back to the day before, back to Christmas—back to any time that didn't have the memory of the words Dave had just spoken reverberating through his mind. He reached his car and threw himself inside, clutching at his head and sobbing into the steering wheel, his whole body shaking. He literally felt like he couldn't breathe; he alternated between broken sobs and gasping desperately for air, tears flowing freely down his face as he heard it over and over and over again.

_Freak friends…losers…that fag Hummel…_

"Dammit!" He screamed through his tears, punching his steering wheel. "Dammit, David! Fuck!"

Kurt rarely cursed, but this was no time to stand on ceremony. The boy he loved, the boy he  _trusted,_ who had promised he would never make fun of him again, had just called him a  _fag_ just to save face in front of his best friend. The boy he loved had just taken one of the happiest moments of his life and dragged it through the dirt, staining it forever with sadness, betrayal, and disgust. Kurt was utterly disgusted with Dave, with himself, and with the whole stupid world that made it so hard for Dave to accept himself and be honest about who he was in the first place. He screamed and punched his steering wheel again.

A knock on his door made him jump, and he looked up, glaring, expecting it to be Dave trying to apologize. It was Mercedes.

He unlocked the door and she climbed in, looking concerned and sympathetic and…guilty?  _That makes no sense,_ he thought. Then she started talking.

"Kurt…what happened just now? With you and Dave?" Kurt stared at her. The way she said it…

"Nothing happened with me and Dave," he said bitterly. "What could possibly ever happen with me and Dave?"  _I should never have started this,_ he thought.  _I can't believe I was ever so stupid. I thought he was really going to change for me. God, I sound like some enabling middle-aged housewife, even to myself._

"Did you two break up?" The question was quiet, barely a whisper. Kurt gaped at Mercedes, who was staring guiltily at her hands folded in her lap. She glanced over at him, eyes begging for understanding, before looking down again. Kurt's eyes widened.

"You…know?"

She just nodded.

"You know about…me and Dave." It wasn't a question. She nodded again.

"That we were together?" He winced when he heard himself automatically use the past tense, but he already knew it applied: he had stopped being with Dave the moment he'd heard the word  _fag_ leave the other boy's lips. Mercedes was still nodding, and he felt something dangerous bubbling up inside him. He was practically choking on it. He was  _furious._

"How long?" He barely managed to get out. Mercedes' reply was so quiet he almost didn't hear it. She had never seen Kurt this angry; his jaw was clenched so tightly she thought it had to hurt.

"New Year's Eve. We saw you kiss."

" _We?"_ Kurt asked incredulously, his voice shooting through an octave. Mercedes winced.

"Me and…Azimio."

She thought he would freak out, yell at her, maybe even slap her. Instead, his face went pale white, and his head dropped into his hands.

"Oh my God," he said, his voice lifeless. The scene he'd just witnessed was rapidly taking on the color of a twisted situational comedy. It made him nauseous just to think of it, and did absolutely nothing to lessen his fury at his best friend.

"Kurt, I'm so sorry—"

"Save it, Mercedes. All I want to know is why you didn't tell me the minute you found out." he said coldly, his words all sharp edges. He didn't even look at her. Mercedes felt some of her anger coming back, and it bolstered her.

"We were mad, okay? We were upset that you guys didn't feel like you could tell us the truth. I mean, I'm your best friend. How could you lie to me for a solid month about something so important? We don't keep secrets, Kurt."

Kurt looked up at her then, and she shrank back in her seat at what she saw in his face. He wasn't just angry; he was  _livid._

"You're right. You and I  _are_ supposed to be best friends. And no, we don't have secrets. We tell each other everything and we keep each other's confidences. So being familiar with this system, did it ever occur to you that it wasn't my secret to tell? Did you ever think that in spite of that, we could have used the extra support? That we were scared, that  _I_ was terrified of what you guys would think and how you would treat David? He's in the  _closet_ , did you ever think that the kind of fear he was experiencing pretty much trumped your bitch fit over me not filling you in on all my latest gossip? I realize you felt betrayed Mercedes, but how do you think we felt? Or did your brains come into it when you and Azimio were stroking your wounded egos together? Dammit!"

"Kurt," she said, sounding like she wanted to cry, "What  _happened?_ " He had never yelled at her like that, not even when she'd put a rock through his windshield. He collapsed against the seat, anger gone as soon as it had come. He just looked tired.

"Azimio was egging David on in the locker room. Since he  _knows_ we're together, I guess he was trying to get him to just confess. But Dave couldn't; he freaked out. He called me a…" his voice faltered on the actual word, but Mercedes didn't need to hear it. She could guess. She had never felt so terrible.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered again, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Kurt's arm. He jerked away, turning to face out the driver's side window, as if he couldn't stand the sight of her.

"Take your apologies and go, Mercedes," he said softly. "I don't want them. I don't know if I want anything from you ever again."

She didn't even argue. Fighting back tears, she climbed out of Kurt's car and shut the door softly, getting as far as she could before she let herself start to cry. Behind her, Kurt sat where she left him, just staring out the window at the glow still bathing the football field and trying to remember how it had felt to be a part of that light only a few minutes before…how he'd felt spinning around in David's arms. When he was sure Mercedes wasn't coming back he curled up in the seat, tucked his knees against his chest and wrapped his arms around them, and cried.


	26. It Was A Mistake

The front door slammed open, and a very dirty, still-slightly-zombified Dave Karofsky came barreling through the house and up the stairs, causing Gina Karofsky to shriek with surprise. Melodie abandoned the t-shirt she was shredding the living room floor and bounded after him.

"Davey, hey, where were you? We missed you after the game, nobody knew where you went."

All she got was Dave's back as he continued up to his room.

"Hey," she persisted, "What gives? Talk to me. Did you see Kurt? We couldn't find him either, I figured you two had run off somewhere together—"

He rounded on her, a truly frightening expression on his face.

"Don't ever talk to me about Kurt Hummel again," he yelled, his voice much higher than usual and cracking on Kurt's name. "I don't ever wanna hear his name again as long as I live." And with that, Dave shut himself in his room and locked the door. She stared at it for a moment, flabbergasted. When did Dave become such a melodramatic girl?

Finally, she headed back downstairs and toward the phone.

"Melodie," said Gina Karofsky, "who on earth do you think you're calling this time of night?" Melodie grimaced.

"It's Saturday, Aunt Gina. And Kurt. I wanna make sure he's alright." Gina didn't say anything; she'd heard her son yelling. She was more or less in the know about the nature of Dave's relationship with the Hummel boy, and while she didn't pretend to understand how her son was gay—he just didn't match up with what she'd been taught to expect—she didn't have a particular aversion to the idea. Lover's quarrels were just part and parcel of the whole thing, she supposed. She got up and moved to the kitchen, partially to give Melodie some privacy for her phone call.

Kurt finally answered on the fifth ring.

"I don't want to hear it, whatever it is," Kurt's voice came over the phone, sounding harsh and cracked and…well, quite a lot like Dave's had earlier. Like he's been crying, Melodie suddenly realized.

"Uh, Kurt? It's Melodie." A sharp intake of breath, then a heavy silence. "You thought I was Dave?" She asked softly after a moment.

"I'm sorry, Dee," he said, sounding tired. "Yes, I did think you were…someone else. Do you need something?"

"I just wanted to see if you were okay," she said hesitantly. "Davey just came home and he's pretty upset. Did something happen?" Kurt sighed.

"I'd really rather not talk about this right now," he said. Melodie bristled at the curt tone.

"Well that's just too fucking bad, Kurt!" She hissed, trying to be quiet so her aunt wouldn't hear. "First you and my cousin hate each other, then suddenly you're secretly dating, and now he comes home from what should have been an amazing night after winning thechampionship game looking like his world has ended and saying he never wants to hear your name again. What the hell did you do to him?"

"What did I do to him?" Kurt was abruptly screaming at her; she winced and held the phone away from her ear a little. "Oh, I don't know, let me think: I endured months of torture from him for being openly gay, only to have him steal my first kiss and practically traumatize me when I confronted him about his behavior. Then I kept his secret even though it probably would have made my life a whole lot easier if I had just outed his hypocritical ass. Then I started hanging out with him at your behest, and gave him a second chance to show me he wasn't just an idiotic, homophobic, terminally ordinary Lima loser like most of his dumb jock teammates, and then I freaking kissed him because I heard him singing a song about me and I thought it was sweet, and then I agreed to date him and keep it a secret until he was ready to come out even though everyone who really mattered wouldn't give a damn. He told me he'd changed and I believed him, I trusted him, only to walk into the locker room to hear him denying even wanting to associate with me and calling me a fag the first time somebody challenged him about spending time with me. Did I forget anything?"

Melodie was silent. She had no idea what to say. Kurt barely paused for a reaction, anyway; he was still yelling, his voice higher than usual and bordering on hysterical.

"So let's review: I forgave him, I kept his secrets, I trusted him, I...I lo…" Kurt choked on his words and burst into tears. Melodie pulled back, staring at the phone looking horrified. She could still hear him, sobbing loudly, even with the phone nearly a foot from her ear. Reluctantly, she pulled it back toward her, wincing at the raw sounds of so much pain assaulting her at full volume.

"Kurt," she said softly, a little desperately, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't know. Please, don't cry. What can I do? Do you want me to come get you? We can go for ice cream." I'll just take David's truck; in his state, he won't notice.

"No, Dee, I'm fine," Kurt said after taking a moment to get his voice under control. Even then, he sounded the furthest thing from fine possible. He sounded small, tired, and very breakable. "I just want to sleep. I'll see you at school."

He hung up before she could say anything else.

Well, Mel, you really managed to fuck up royally this time. Good job.

She honestly didn't know who she was the maddest at. On the one hand, she was ready to strangle Dave for being such an idiot. She'd tried to talk to him about it, but he had locked himself in his room and wouldn't come to the door. He wouldn't even acknowledge her, and when his mother came upstairs to check on him, all he said was "go away."

Melodie stared at the crossbeams on her ceiling, trying to figure out a way to fix the situation. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was at least partially responsible. If I hadn't forced Kurt to be around Dave in the first place, they might never have gotten together, and Dave wouldn't be locked in his room sulking and Kurt wouldn't be crying his eyes out.

"Ugh!" She sat up and grabbed the phone off her desk. Thankfully, nobody was using it at the moment. She dialed Mercedes' number.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mr. Jones, is Mercedes there? This is Melodie Bloom, from Glee club."

"Oh, hello Melodie. She just got home a few minutes ago, I'll get her."

"Thanks," Melodie said woodenly. A moment later, she heard Mercedes' voice.

"Melodie?"

"Mercedes, hey. Listen, do you know what's going on? Kurt called me crying—"

"He did?" Mercedes abruptly sounded like she was about to burst into tears herself. Am I the only person not having a nervous breakdown tonight? Melodie thought.

"Yeah…he did. He was too upset to talk about it much though. Mercedes, honestly I'm not sure why he called me. Kurt's great, but you're his best friend and he even knows Rachel better than me—"

"I don't know if I'm Kurt's best friend anymore or not, Dee," Mercedes said quietly. Melodie stayed quiet; she didn't know how to respond. Finally…

"What happened?" When Mercedes spoke, it was clear she was crying.

"Azimio was in the locker room with Dave, and I guess he was trying to get Dave to confess about him and Kurt—"

"Wait, him and Kurt? What…about them?" Melodie got up and started pacing.

"Me and Azimio…we saw them together…um, we saw Dave kiss Kurt. We know they're together."

"When?" Melodie began worrying at her thumbnail with her teeth, a nervous habit she'd managed to all but abandon since moving to Lima.

"Rachel's New Year's Eve party." Mercedes said in a small voice. Melodie stopped pacing.

"Wait a second. You and Azimio have known all this time that they were together, and you didn't say anything to either of them until last night?" Mercedes let out a dry sob.

"Y-yeah…we were mad. I couldn't believe Kurt would k-keep something like that from me. We don't keep s-secrets! Azimio, he said they should know they could trust us, s-so he tried to force Dave into telling him. He doesn't h-have a problem with Dave being gay…" she seemed to choke on her words then, and for a second Melodie just stood there, listening to her cry and trying to find some pity. Strangely, she couldn't seem to extend much sympathy for anyone past Kurt and Dave.

"Mercedes," she said at last, and her voice was a little sharper than she intended. "I know what happened with Kurt and Dave. What happened between you and Kurt?"

"I found Kurt in his car…I guess it was right after Kurt heard Dave and Azimio talking. He was so upset, and I felt so terrible. I told him that we already knew, and Kurt…" she stopped again, crying too hard to continue, but Melodie could guess.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say he let you have it."

"Yeah," Mercedes managed to choke out. "He yelled at me. Kurt never yells." Mercedes was definitely crying. Melodie sighed, collapsing back onto her bed and pressing a hand to her eyes.

"Mercedes," she said, "What the hell were you guys thinking? I mean, I know Azimio has the emotional intelligence of a gadfly, but you're supposed to be Kurt's best friend. How could you do this to him?"

"I know that n-now!" Mercedes practically wailed. "Believe me, Kurt laid it all out for me earlier when he told me he didn't want me as a friend anymore!" Melodie grimaced.

"I'm sorry, Cedes," she said softly. "But under the circumstances, can you really blame him?" The other girl just cried harder, and Melodie winced. "Look…I'm sure Kurt will get over it eventually." She wasn't. "He might forgive you, just give him some time."

"Th-thanks, Dee. I know I don't deserve that. Look…tell Dave I'm s-sorry, okay? I know he'd never have said whatever he did to hurt Kurt if me and Azimio hadn't pretty much set him up."

"I'll tell him," Melodie said gently. "Take it easy, Cedes. I'm gonna go try and talk to Davey."

"'Kay. Later, girl," Mercedes said dejectedly, before hanging up. Melodie put the phone on the cradle and stood up again, pacing and biting her thumb nail absently.

Dammit, David. You just had to retreat into your giant walk-in closet, didn't you? God. How the hell can I fix this?

Sighing, she got up and crossed the room, intent on heading downstairs to talk to Dave. At the door to her room, however, she was met by Gina Karofsky.

"Melodie…can I talk to you for a minute? It's about…about David." Melodie looked down at the cordless phone in Gina's hand—the one from the kitchen. She felt her heart stutter.

Oh shit. She looked at Gina's face. She must've picked up while I was on the phone with Mercedes…oh dammit dammit shit fuck how the hell am I gonna explain to Dave that I outed him to his mom via telephone?

Gina stepped inside the room and closed the door, crossed the room and sat gingerly on the edge of Melodie's bed, motioning for Melodie to join her. She did, reluctantly, and immediately started chewing on her nails again.

"Melodie," Gina said hesitantly, trying to decide where to begin. She decided to just dive right in. "Did Dave and Kurt have a fight?" That caught Melodie off guard.

"Uh…what?" Gina sighed.

"David doesn't tell me everything." She smiled sadly. "Actually, he doesn't tell me anything, not anymore. I used to think it was just him being a teenager. Now though, I wonder when I ever gave my son a reason to think anything he could tell me would make me love him any less." She looked at Melodie, unshed tears glistening in her eyes, and Melodie felt an intense ache for her own mother. As much as her aunt annoyed her, she was a good mom and she wasn't a half-bad aunt…and she obviously knew Dave was gay and didn't care.

"Aunt Gina…I don't think Davey thinks you'll love him any less. He's just…scared. And ashamed. Honestly, I think he's most worried about the kind of thing kids at school will do. They're not particularly nice to Kurt." Himself included sometimes, she didn't add. Gina nodded, sniffling delicately and blinking her eyes to hold the tears back.

"Just…I know you two aren't buddy-buddy so much, but...you still seem to know what's going on with David better than anyone else in this house. Is he…" she seemed to struggle for the right way to ask her question. "Is he going to be okay?" Melodie considered her aunt for a moment, and then gave her a tentative smile.

"I honestly don't know, Aunt Gina. But I really hope so…and…I'll help him if I can at all."

She was rewarded with a watery smile.

"Thank you, dear," her aunt said. She got up, and made her way toward the door. Just before she left, she turned back. "Melodie, you're a good kid. I'm glad you came to stay with us this year. And I hope you know you're welcome as long as you need to stay."

As if I didn't already have enough to think about, Melodie thought sourly for what had to be the fiftieth time that day. She put her head down on the desk, trying to stave off the headache she could feel building behind her eyes. School was turning into her own personal hell.

Dave and Kurt weren't speaking to one another. Or, more precisely, Kurt was pretending Dave didn't exist, and Dave was looking like a kicked puppy everywhere he went at school and acting like a sulky brat at home. She'd tried to talk to him a few times over the weekend, but all she got was told to fuck off and a door slammed in her face. Kurt was acting more or less normal, except for the fact that he didn't smile or make a single snarky comment the entire day. Mostly he just sat, a still, pale presence occupying space. He wasn't speaking to Mercedes, who spent most of her time looking guilty and despondent. Lunchtime was incredibly awkward, because nobody wanted to ask Kurt what had happened, and everyone knew it had something to do with Dave. Finn kept shooting his stepbrother worried looks and trying to get him to talk about it, eventually resulting in Kurt storming out. It was constant tension, and it was driving her crazy.

Their shopping trips were cancelled indefinitely. When Melodie asked Kurt about going to hang out at the mall, he just shrugged and said he didn't really feel like it. She figured the truth was he didn't want to be reminded that their little group had been unceremoniously sliced in half. He was speaking to her, but just barely, and he vehemently aborted any plans she raised that might involve him coming to her house. Basically, he avoided anything that forced him to acknowledge that Dave Karofsky existed.

So why does Sam pick now to start getting clingy? He'd been looking at her funny all day, being more affectionate than usual, and passing her notes in English class asking her if she was okay, and did she want to talk about it? It was beyond annoying, and yet she felt guilty for being annoyed. She knew he was just trying to be there for her, but that little nagging voice saying he was getting too attached and she was letting him wouldn't shut up, and she was starting to think it was time to find a way out.

The only problem was…she really liked Sam. All throughout what had to be the longest Monday she had ever lived through, hanging out with him was the only time she didn't feel like she was being slowly ripped down the middle by her friends' problems. The two minutes they stole between classes at her locker were the only time she didn't spend worrying about the fact that people she cared about were hurting, and wondering how she could fix it. He didn't prod overmuch, but he was getting impatient. He wanted to help; it was just the kind of person he was. He wanted her to let him in, and she wasn't sure she was ready to do that, or whether she should. He was just supposed to be a boy, dammit. Sammy, why can't you just stay a stupid boy?

Didn't matter now…he was so obviously more than that, and she hadn't even noticed until suddenly she needed him to help her deal with all the secondhand stress, and she didn't know what to do about it.

'I don't know what to do'…that should be my personal motto, she thought bitterly as she slammed her history book closed and headed for her locker. It was the last class of the day; only Glee club was left. Suddenly, the thought of sitting through Glee with worried Finn, hyper and oblivious Rachel, sad Mercedes, and silent Kurt was just more than she could handle. She felt sick just thinking about it. Shoving her book inside her locker, she shut the door, spun the lock, turned—and ran right into Sam, her nose pressing into his chest. She should've backed up, scowled at him, told him to watch where he was going. But suddenly, his chest was the most comforting thing she'd ever seen, and she threw both arms around him instead and pressed closer, breathing deep, shaky breaths as she struggled not to embarrass herself further by bursting into tears.

Surprised, Sam wrapped his arms around her shoulders and looked down at her, eyes full of concern.

"Hey," he said softly. "Hey…what's going on? Mel…something's been bothering you all day. Do you want to talk about it?" She shook her head vehemently against his chest, and he squeezed her shoulders and nodded.

"Okay…you don't have to. D'you want me to take you home ?" She nodded, not trusting herself to speak without her voice breaking. He just nodded in return and led her toward the door to the parking lot. On his way, he spotted Mike and Tina headed to Glee club from the other direction.

"Hey guys?" he said softly, "Mel's not feeling great, I'm gonna take her home. Tell Mr. Shue we're sorry?" Mike just nodded, and Tina gave Mel a sympathetic, pained smile as Sam led her away.

Melodie just kept her eyes down, fighting back her tears the entire way to Sam's car, determined not to let anyone see her upset. For the moment, all her worries about Sam were gone. He was there, he was solid and kind, and he was rescuing her from the humiliation of bursting into tears or throwing a fit in the middle of Glee club. She nestled closer into his side as they walked, taking deep breaths and trying not to think about Kurt, or Dave, or all her other friends and the pain they all seemed to be in. He squeezed her shoulder and she looked up at him, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat and offering him a small smile.

"Thanks, Sammy," she said.

Dave had been trying to get Kurt alone to talk all day, to no avail. It had taken him two sleepless nights to decide he wasn't ready to give up yet. A part of him told him he didn't deserve another chance, and he figured that part was completely right. All the same, he knew he needed to apologize and he half-hoped Kurt would forgive him and they could go back to being something…if not boyfriends, at least friends like they had been becoming before Christmas break happened.

So Monday morning he gathered all the courage he could muster and decided he would try to make things right. But he could never seem to get the boy alone! In the hallways, Kurt was always surrounded; his friends were like some kind of show choir honor guard. Tina and Melodie were glaring at him, although he knew Melodie's had more to do with his refusal to talk to her about it than anything; she seemed bizarrely attached to the idea of him and Kurt getting married and making gay babies together for some reason. Mercedes was conspicuously absent from the cluster of Single Ladies, and Dave had to wonder why, but he didn't know her well enough to ask.

If he hadn't been so focused on the fact that Kurt was ignoring him, he might have spared a pang of regret at the fact that when push came to shove, the girls he'd been building something of a friendship with were Kurt's friends, not his, no matter how nice he had been to them in recent weeks. The rest of the Glee club was apparently clued in as well, if not to the particulars of the situation, at least to the fact that Dave Karofsky was once again persona non grata as far as Kurt Hummel was concerned, and they weren't letting him get anywhere near Kurt. Lunchtime was the worst; they all kept glaring at him—well, all except Finn, who kept shooting him sympathetic glances that were almost worse, because it meant that he knew what a screw-up Dave was. For his part, Kurt just avoided Dave's gaze entirely and didn't say a single word to him the entire day, not even an insulting one.

Dave supposed he could have apologized in front of them all, but he didn't particularly want the whole world to hear their conversation, especially given Kurt's propensity for drama. He would cry or yell, or both. But it was looking like the Glee club was planning to make sure Dave couldn't get within five feet of Kurt Hummel for the rest of their high school career.

Until finally, finally, he got a stroke of luck just before the bell for the last period of the day. He turned a corner, and there Kurt was, his back to him, waving goodbye to Melodie as she entered her last class. Neither of them seemed to notice Dave's presence, and he was so startled at Kurt's sudden proximity that he ducked back around the corner immediately, leaning out just far enough to see. The halls were almost deserted, and apparently the route to Kurt's destination was such that all his friends had already peeled off into their own classes. Dave saw his chance and took it. As soon as the door closed on Melodie he leaned around the corner and grabbed Kurt by the arm, pulling the startled boy into the boy's bathroom across the hall

"What the—let go of me!"

Dave didn't let go. Instead, he closed the door and turned, keeping himself between the door and Kurt, to put his hands on Kurt's shoulders.

"Kurt—"

"I don't want to hear it, Dave." He jerked away as he said it, and tried to get around Dave to the door. Dave stopped him.

"Kurt, please—"

"I'm going to be late for class."

"Talk to me." His tone was pleading. Kurt's expression softened, but his voice was still bitter when he answered.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Then listen for a minute, will you?"

"Save it," Kurt said, and he sounded tired. "I don't want to hear you talk. I heard enough the other night." Kurt averted his eyes as he said this. It cut Dave to the core. He had to make Kurt understand.

"You know I didn't mean any of that! That was—look, Azimio was getting suspicious, all right? I was freaked out because of what happened on the field."

"What happened on the field? Dave, we hugged."

"I know, and then Az started saying all these things, it was like he knew, and I had to make sure he didn't figure it out. I didn't want to say those things, and you were never supposed to hear any of it."

"Don't you dare, David Karofsky." Abruptly, Kurt was furious again. "Don't you try to turn this around on me. The problem isn't what I heard. You weren't supposed to say any of that. You aren't supposed to think that way anymore. You said you were trying to change."

"I am. I have—I mean, I'm trying to change. Look, you're right. I shouldn't have said those things. I just wasn't ready for him to find out!"

"So you had to insult me, make fun of me, pretend you don't even like being around me to keep that from happening? How long am I supposed to deal with that, Dave? Just when will you be ready?"

"You…you said you weren't gonna push me, Kurt." Dave's voice was dangerously close to breaking. He was suddenly hit with the painful realization that he hadn't really believed Kurt was out of his reach before this very moment, because against all probability, Kurt loved him. And because if he had expected it to be over for good, this wouldn't hurt so much, would it? But looking into Kurt's face, Dave realized he was going to lose him, and it hurt.

"I know what I said." Kurt's voice was quiet. Dave cast around wildly in his mind for something that would make Kurt stay with him, and came up blank. So he went with his original recourse.

"Just…give me some more time. I'll try harder. Kurt, I want this to work. I love you."

Kurt sighed. "No, you don't."

"What? How can you say that?"

"You can't love me, David. Not when you hate yourself so much because of something we share."

"I don't hate myself. I told you, I'm just not—"

"Ready. I know. You keep saying it, but why is that, Dave? I have to wonder, is it really because you're afraid, or is it because you're ashamed?"

"I—"

"Because your parents have no problem with me. Your mother knows. She caught us making out, and she's still fine with me. She's fine with us. Your dad's given no indication that he wouldn't be if he knew, and in case you haven't noticed, Azimio does know." Dave jerked his head at that, a panicked look in his eyes. Kurt sighed.

"Mercedes told me," he said softly. "After…before I went home from the game. They've known since New Years. They were waiting for us to trust them enough to tell them the truth." His voice grew sharp, bitter. Dave suddenly realized why he hadn't seen Mercedes around Kurt all day.

And he remembered that tired, exasperated look on Azimio's face in the locker room, and felt ill. He'd known. He'd been giving Dave the chance to stand up, to defend Kurt, and tell the truth. Dave opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

"I—"

"Don't, David. Just…I'm sorry. This was a mistake." For a moment Dave felt relief, instant and overwhelming. He found his voice.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you! I'm not perfect, Kurt. This is all really new to me, and I freaked out, and it was just a mistake. I'll never make it again. I'll make all this up to you, too, you'll see." He reached for the smaller boy, but Kurt pulled back, the look on his face pained.

"David…" His voice broke on Dave's name. "That's not what I meant."

And just like that, the pain was back.

"What…what did you mean, then?" He already knew, but he wanted Kurt to tell him he was wrong.

"I meant," Kurt looked away as he spoke, "that this was a mistake. You and me. I'm sorry, I never should have started this thing with you."

"What? No! You said you'd wait, Kurt. You said you loved me." He didn't even try to hide the desperation in his voice.

And I do, but you really hurt me. "And you said you loved me." Kurt was irritatingly calm. Dave wanted to shake him. "But we were wrong, okay? We were just wrong, and confused. You can't love me, because you're not ready. And I can't love you, because I can't trust you. So let's just…stay away from each other, okay?"

"No," Dave said, real panic in his face now. "That is not okay. Please, Kurt. I'll do anything."

The helplessness in Dave's voice tore at the anger Kurt was using to keep himself together, and his heart throbbed painfully at the agony in the taller boy's eyes. But he couldn't let himself give in. He shook his head; his eyes were sad but the rest of his face went determinedly blank. He was retreating behind the composure he showed the rest of the world, Dave realized. The exuberant, glossy-eyed boy Dave loved was disappearing in front of him, hiding behind a cold exterior that broke his heart every second it was in place. When Kurt spoke again, his voice was brittle and sharp-edged. It hurt to listen to it.

"Dave, do you realize you waited until you could get me entirely alone before you'd say anything to me? It's been three days. You didn't even try to come after me on Saturday night. Granted, I didn't want to talk to you then, so I probably would have ignored you, but you could have apologized to me any time yesterday or earlier today, in front of Tina, Melodie, Finn, and Rachel. But you waited three days to catch me away from everyone else. Doesn't that say anything to you?"

"I just—I didn't—"

"You didn't want anyone to overhear." It wasn't a question.

"Because it's private, it's between us!" Dave ought to have known Kurt would see through that flimsy excuse.

"No, because it's a secret. It's the dirty little secret you don't want anyone to discover, and I can't be that for you, okay? I don't know why I thought I could. I guess maybe I hoped it wouldn't be that way…that you'd change faster, because you were happy with me. I was being naïve."

"But you weren't. I am happy with you."

"I know," Kurt said, and his cool façade cracked just enough to allow for a sad smile. His voice softened. "We had fun together. But that's not enough. I'm sorry; I thought it would be. But I can't be your secret. I want more. I won't deny you like me, or even that you're attracted to me. But you don't love me. At least, not as much as you love keeping your reputation."

Your reputation with a bunch of people you don't really give a damn about, Kurt thought as he looked up into Dave's face, struggling desperately to keep the tears he could feel behind his eyes at bay, to keep his mask firmly in place long enough to get this over with. But he could feel himself slipping. He didn't know what he wanted from Dave anymore. He'd thought they could keep their relationship a secret, and look where that had led them.

Tell me I'm wrong, David, he begged with his eyes. He didn't know how Dave could make it all okay again, but he desperately wanted it to be. Tell me you really will change; tell me you love me more. Even if you can't come out at school, tell me something to make me believe you love me. I'll do it all over again: be your secret and ache every time you pretend we're just friends in public. I'll even let you call me a fag and a fairy when you're with your so-called jock friends, if you can just convince me you really do love me and you're just scared.

But Dave didn't say anything. He just hung his head, avoiding the burn of Kurt's gaze, with his shoulders hunched forward in that horrible way that made him look lost and sad. Kurt hated it. He knew he could make it go away with a touch, a single word. He restrained himself, but just barely. He couldn't date someone who was ashamed of him, and Dave couldn't tell him he wasn't. He decided to let him off the hook.

"It's alright, Dave." The cold voice and blank expression were back, and Dave flinched.

"I was being naïve and selfish. This was never going to work out as long as you were ashamed of who you were. I should have understood that, and I should never have told you I'd wait for you. We shouldn't have been so quick to call it love. It was just…hormones, and teenage romanticism. I'm sorry."

The dry sob that escaped Dave's lips almost broke him. Kurt took a step back, fighting the urge to throw his arms around the other boy and take it all back. Dave didn't really love him, he repeatedly told himself, couldn't really love him when he was so ashamed and disgusted by something that was a part of them both. It didn't work that way.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I have to go."

This time, when he moved to go around Dave and get to the door, Dave didn't try to stop him.


	27. Valentine's Day, Part 1

Days passed, then a week…then two. Dave kept expecting it to stop hurting—or at least to hurt less—when he caught a glimpse of Kurt in the hallways at school or across the cafeteria at lunchtime. It never did.

His life had officially never sucked so much. Football was over, so he had nothing to distract him from all of the free time he suddenly had, free time he'd looked forward to spending with his first-ever boyfriend. To make matters worse, Melodie stopped feeling sorry for him way before she was done being pissed off at him. This probably had something to do with his refusal to talk to her about Kurt. She had adopted a policy of ignoring him completely and spending all of her time after school out with Sam or with Kurt, Tina, and Rachel. Mercifully, she never invited any of them over.

Or maybe she did, he thought glumly, and Kurt said no, because he doesn't want to be in the same building as you if he doesn't have to be.

Dave hadn't spoken to Azimio since the night of the game. Every once in awhile he would catch his eye at school, and it would look like Azimio wanted to talk to him. He just averted his eyes; he wasn't really sure how he felt about what Kurt had told him—that Azimio had known all along—and he didn't particularly want to find out on school grounds and get suspended again. So mostly he spent his time alone.

The worst part was that, for all intents and purposes, he was still just as deep in the closet as he had been before, with all of the anxiety and fear that entailed…and then some, because people knew. Sure, Kurt would never tell anyone, but what about Finn? He didn't thinkFinn would do something as cruel as outing him intentionally, but he didn't know for sure that Finn wouldn't do it accidentally. Melodie knew, too, and so did Azimio and Mercedes.

He strongly suspected that the whole damn Glee club knew exactly what had gone on between him and Kurt, exactly how close they'd been and why it had ended…but he couldn't talk to any of them about it. He supposed he could have asked Mercedes, who occasionally threw him apologetic looks when they passed in the hallway, but he wasn't sure she'd know, either. Kurt still wasn't speaking to her, so she wasn't much better off than Dave at the moment as far as having friends went. Even she and Azimio had cooled their friendship after the disaster it had wrought on their respective best friends' love lives.

It was all just nerve-wracking, frustrating, and terrifying for more reasons than one. If he'd thought having some people know would be easier than keeping it all to himself, he'd been dead wrong. His initial fear still remained: how would everyone react if they knew? With so many people in on his little secret, everyone could find out at literally any moment. And what about in the meantime? Dave had gotten so out of control and angry before. He knew it; he knew he'd been lashing out, knew he'd been heading down an increasingly dark road with the way he was treating Kurt, neglecting his grades, and pushing people away before Melodie barged into his life and mixed everything up so thoroughly. He never thought he'd be thankful for her interference, but he was. Now, though…all that fear was back, and although it felt different—cold, paralyzing terror rather than red-hot panic—he still didn't have an outlet for it and he still didn't know how to handle it, any of it. What if I become that person again?

Dave's mom attempted to approach him a couple of times. She was worried; he was quieter than usual, and he never came out of his room. He put her off with a shrug and the excuse that he had a lot of homework lately, as if he could concentrate on school at all. He hated the worried look in her eyes, and he knew what she really wanted to talk about. He put her off because he wasn't ready to have that kind of conversation, especially in the present circumstances.

Dave hadn't come out to his dad the way he'd planned. What's the fucking point? He thought bitterly whenever the idea presented itself to him. I'm supposed to come out to my dad and take the risk that he'll hate me forever for something I can't even help, just so I can be alone and miserable and have my dad refuse to look at me? No thanks.

With Kurt it would have been worth the risk, a challenge they could face together. Without Kurt, it was just one more thing to be afraid of. So Dave stayed in the closet metaphorically, and he spent most of his time locked in his room, by himself. He didn't do a lot of studying; mostly he slept, a deep and unhealthily dreamless kind of sleep that always left him headachy and more exhausted when he woke up than he was when he laid down. He tried not to think about unfathomably-colored eyes, or honey lip balm, or snow…or the pair of sunglasses buried somewhere in his closet. He got up and stormed out of calculus one day because the teacher had been humming "Thriller" while she handed back their tests. He hadn't touched his guitar in weeks.

"Melodie," Gina said cautiously. Melodie looked up from the tomato sandwich she was throwing together, frowning at her aunt's expression. She was holding the phone out, looking almost like she wanted to snatch it back when Melodie reached out to take it from her.

Giving her aunt a questioning glance, Melodie balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder and continued with her sandwich-making.

"Hello?"

"Hey, sweetie!"

Melodie almost dropped the phone. She scrabbled to hold onto it with the hand not occupied by a butter knife and then clutched it to her ear as if it were vital to her continued existence.

"Mom?"

Sam Evans looked across the table at the girl with the multi-toned hair, weird yellow-framed sunglasses, and outrageous clothes, and he couldn't stop the big, goofy grin that spread across his face. She raised an eyebrow at him over the top of the book she was reading.

"Something on your mind, Sammy?" She asked. If possible, his grin got even wider.

"I love it when you call me that," he said. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't be such a sap," she said, but she was grinning too. Sam just kept grinning and watched her read, focusing on the way she thumbed absently at the edges of the pages. He focused on a freckle near the top of her thumb that he'd never noticed before, noted the way she had habit of using that same hand to play with a stray lock of hair, repeatedly pushing it behind her ear after each page turn.

Without taking his eyes off of Melodie, Sam leaned over and reached into his open backpack, withdrawing a small box carefully wrapped in red, pink, and white wrapping paper covered in decorative hearts. Blushing a little, he placed it on the table and then slid it across. It struck Melodie's elbow softly where she was resting it on the table. She looked up at him and then down at the gift, and then back at him with both eyebrows raised this time.

"What's—"

"Tomorrow's Valentine's Day," he said sheepishly. "I thought…maybe you'd like to go on a date with me? Uh…be my Valentine?"

Melodie's face was unreadable; she was doing some very quick thinking. She and Sam didn't really go on dates. They spent time together casually. They kissed sometimes. He walked her to classes, but overall she thought she'd managed to keep the whole thing casual. She wasn't doodling hearts in her notebook with his initials in them. They didn't do anything that could be considered overly romantic. A date for Valentine's Day sounded a little too formal, a little too much like flirting with the lines, especially in light of that phone call she was trying so hard not to think about.

Sam was looking at her from under his hair and half-grinning.

"That wrinkle between your eyebrows is gonna be permanent one of these days," he said. She snapped back to the conversation at hand, grinning a little sheepishly.

"How long was I out?"

Sam shrugged. "Oh, not too long. Just long enough to torture me while I sit here and wonder what you're going to say."

She tried to fight it, really she did, but the smile spread across her face without her permission. She tried to compensate for it with her words.

"Fine, if you insist," she said. Sam grinned widely, and she rolled her eyes, but then found herself considering the gift on the table.

"Can I…open it?" She gestured to the garishly-wrapped box. He nodded eagerly, and she laughed at him before reaching out and carefully removing the paper, trying not to tear it. She set the wrapping aside and turned the box over in her hands, wondering what could be inside. Finally, she pulled off the top and looked inside, and froze.

"Oh, Sammy…it's…it's beautiful."

It was a small, flat rectangular pendant on a silver chain, like a tiny picture frame. In it was a picture of a little songbird perched on the treble clef of a bar of music notes. Beside the bird were the words "sweetest song."

"Do you like it?" He asked shyly. Melodie nodded; she couldn't take her eyes off it. It was beautiful, and perfect: it was exactly the kind of sweet, romantic, borderline-cliché thing she would never admit she adored, with just enough personality thrown into it to make it really mean something to her. She fingered the pendant carefully, an unconscious smile playing at her lips and a soft look in her eyes that Sam had never seen there before. All her internal alarm bells were suspiciously silent, or maybe just broken. When she finally glanced up and fixed him with that look, Sam felt like a total girl, because he could swear he felt his heart actually flutter in his chest.

"I love you."

The words just slipped out, and just like that everything was different. The alarm bells weren't broken after all, and they were clanging in her head so loudly they drowned everything else out. Melodie's eyes widened, and she sat back in her chair, dropping the box onto the table as if it were suddenly too heavy for her to hold. She looked at Sam with something shocked, almost frightened staring out of her eyes, and he was reminded, for some reason, of the first time he'd kissed her.

She got up and grabbed her bag, stuffing her book in it hastily.

"Melodie…what the hell?"

"I have to go," she muttered, not looking at him. "Aunt Gina wanted me home in time for supper."

Sam tried to block her but she ducked around him, heading for the door without looking back. He grabbed the pendant from where she'd left it on the table and grabbed his backpack, running out after her and calling her name as he went.

"Mel! Melodie! Would you stop for a second and talk to me?"

She pivoted on her heel and turned to face him, but her expression was closed off; the softness in her eyes was gone.

"Sam, I'm sorry. This was a huge mistake."

"Why, because I told you I loved you?"

"Yes! Exactly. You…you always want too much from me. We can't just be friends, you have to kiss me. And then we can't just be going out, you have to be in love with me. What's the matter with you? Why can't you be like every other obnoxious, sex-crazed teenage guy in the world?"

He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Seriously? What, you want me to be less in touch with my feelings?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because I told you before. I don't want to get attached here, okay? I don't want to stay here and I definitely don't want to stay here for something as cliché as love or romance or whatever other ridiculous teenage rom-com chick flick fantasy scenarios you have in your head!"

"Melodie," Sam sounded hurt. "What's wrong? You can't tell me this is just because I said I love you."

She seemed to wilt where she stood, all of the fight gone out of her in an instant. Shoulders slumped, she leaned against the side of the building, sliding down to the ground to sit in a miserable heap. She looked really small and lonely all of a sudden. Sam joined her cautiously, leaving enough space between them so that they wouldn't touch unless she decided to reach out to him.

"Tell me what happened," he said softly. She sighed.

"My mom called. A couple days ago. She didn't call me on Christmas or even on my fucking birthday but she calls me now, out of the blue, just to say hi and see how I'm doing. She wants to know when I'll be ready to come home."

Melodie sniffed and rubbed a hand across her face, inhaling sharply like she was holding back a sob. Sam just gazed at her silently, waiting for her to be ready to continue. After a minute, she let out a bitter huff of a laugh.

"When am I going to be ready to come home, isn't that great? Like it was my idea to come to this stupid town in the first place, like it's ever been up to me when they let me go home." She looked at Sam. "You never asked why I got shipped here to live with Davey."

Sam just shook his head. He'd never asked because he'd figured she didn't want to talk about it. She smiled, not happily, and faced forward, focusing on her hands as she talked and fidgeting with a loose thread on her skirt.

"I'm not a bad kid. At least, I never thought I was. I get good grades and everything. I got detention a few times for talking back in class, but nothing too serious. My attendance record was almost perfect, my lowest grade was the B minus I could never quite get past in math. I was in chorus at my old school—a real chorus, with a whole class period devoted to it and everything. I was also editor of the opinions section of my school newspaper, and I guess that's what got me in trouble."

"See, I had this bizarre idea that newspapers were supposed to be the voice of the oppressed and expose corruption, all that good stuff. So when our school cancelled the funding for our academic decathlon team after they brought home, like, six medals in one competition, I wondered why. I talked to their advisor, and the principal, and the school board governor. Turns out, it was the principal; she didn't like the club's faculty advisor, so she cancelled the funding out of spite. Of course, I didn't have proof, but I did have proof that it was her actions that had gotten the funding for the club revoked, despite the school board's approval and the club's stellar performance."

"So...what happened?" Sam asked tentatively. Melodie made a face that wasn't exactly a grin; it was too angry for that. She seemed to be clenching her teeth rather hard.

"She told me I couldn't run the story in the school paper. I talked to our faculty advisor and found out that she had the authority to do that. So…I sent it in the local paper instead, and they ran it."

Sam couldn't hold back a laugh at that. "No way."

Melodie grinned at him. "Way. I totally did."

"Did she freak out?"

"Uh, yeah. Totally flipped her shit. But it wasn't like there was anything she could do about it. A lot of parents got really upset and made a stink about personal vendettas and office politics getting in the way of their students' education. They basically demanded that funding be restored to the club. So it was."

"Wow," said Sam. "So…you really made a difference with that article, huh?"

"Sure. For all the good it did me." Abruptly, the light had gone out of Melodie's eyes. The set of her shoulders was proud, but she was back to staring at her fidgeting hands.

"I'm guessing there's more to the story?" She nodded.

"Well," she said after a moment. "When my journalism advisor first found out I couldn't print the article in the school paper, she told me 'there's more than one way to skin a cat.' That's what gave me the idea to go to the local paper in the first place. Turns out, that saying's true on a lot of levels. The principal was pissed, but she couldn't legally touch me, so she just started making my life a living hell in other ways."

"She cracked down on the school newspaper, hard. Demanded that every single issue be sent to her for final approval before going to print. If she didn't like a story, it got cut, and there we were with empty space to fill and no time to fill it. We missed a lot of printing deadlines, usually because of something I wrote. Then she told my professor that 'in order to make the class more applicable to the real world,' students had to have a certain number of published articles in order to pass the class. Of course, my articles were the ones getting cut the most. So by the end of the semester it looked like I was gonna get a failing grade."

"What a bitch," Sam said emphatically. Melodie chuckled a bit and nodded.

"Yeah. She really was. And when my professor told me I wasn't going to pass, I freaked. I want to go to Berkeley, or Dartmouth, or Brown. I'm not going to get into one of those schools with a failing grade in an elective course on my transcripts. I went to her office and tried to talk to her about it. I appealed to her as an educator, as a moral human being…hell, I even tried to appeal to her as an American citizen; upholding the First Amendment and all that. She just looked at me and folded her hands and said, in this infuriating, calm voice, 'I'm sorry you feel you're being treated unfairly, Miss Bloom, but if you were producing quality work we wouldn't be having this conversation right now.' I…kinda lost it."

"Oh God," said Sam, knowing full well what Melodie was like when she lost it. "What did you say?"

"I, uh…well…I told her that if she'd pull her head out of her own ass she'd see there were more important things at stake than her bitch fit power trip over the fact that I made her look bad by exposing the last bitch fit power trip she took simply because someone else refused to bend over and take it when she tried to fuck them."

Sam's eyes were wide. If the whole story didn't make him so angry—angry on Melodie's behalf, angry enough to punch that principal if he ever saw her—he might have laughed.

"She called my parents. Sat down with them at a meeting. I was so mad I could barely talk about it without stuttering and nearly bursting into tears. So she made it sound like I was violent, having disciplinary problems. Pointed to the kids I hung out with in journalism as the likely culprit, played the whole 'concerned educator card.' So yeah…my parents freaked and sent me here to get away from the 'negative influences.' And I haven't heard anything from them or my so-called friends in months, except for that one stupid phone call the other day."

"Wow. So…" Sam hesitated for a second, then pushed on. "Okay, don't get mad at me, alright? I just don't understand why you're so eager to get back there." Melodie shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

"I just…it's where I belong, you know? I miss it. I didn't wanna leave. And no offense to McKinley, but my high school will look better on a transcript, even with the bad journalism grade."

Sam nodded. "I can understand that."

Melodie looked at him gratefully. "Thanks, Sammy."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Sam contemplating Melodie's profile out of the corner of his eye. She didn't seem about to bolt on him for now, so he supposed it was safe to ask one more question.

"So, when are you going back?"

Melodie sighed and leaned against him. He lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, and she snuggled into his side, reclining her head back against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

"I don't know," she said softly. "I'm gonna finish the year out here; it'd be dumb to transfer twice in the same year. So you get me for a little while longer, I suppose." The last part was said teasingly, but Sam could hear the ring of truth behind it, and what she didn't say as well. This is still only temporary. I can't be in this thing with you the way you seem to want. Is that okay?

"Okay," he said. "I guess I can live with that for now. No more spontaneous declarations of love. I promise."

Melodie smiled, only a little ruefully, and sighed contentedly, relaxing against him. She opened her eyes and looked up, meeting his.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, you know," she said.

When she got home, Melodie went straight up to her room and dropped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to remember the look on Sam's face when she told him she'd be staying for the rest of the year.

Stupid stupid stupid boy…why do you have to always be one step ahead of me, huh? Why do you have to be so sincere and honest about your feelings? You're a jock, for Christ's sake, you're supposed to have no emotional range and a sense of romance limited to an extra-nice dinner before we make out in the back seat of your car. What the hell are you doing to me with all of this 'be my Valentine' business, and why on earth did you have to tell me you love me?

"Oh, Sammy," she sighed. Sitting up, she reached for the phone on her nightstand, dialing an all-too-familiar number. Kurt picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?" His voice was wary, and she realized with a pang that he was still half-expecting Dave to try to call him.

"Hey Kurt, it's me," she said. She thought she heard a sigh of relief (or disappointment).

"Hey Dee," he said. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Melodie snickered. "God, you talk like an old man. From Victorian England. Anyway, you 'owe the honor' to my desperate need for some pre-V-Day retail therapy. Sam's taking me out tomorrow night, apparently. I need to not spend all day tomorrow dwelling on that. Gonna help me out, Hummel?"

"You ask that question like it's actually a question," he said haughtily.

Kurt couldn't believe what he was seeing. He wanted to look away, he really did, but it was just too awful. Like a really bad car crash, or a post-pregnancy bikini photo in a tabloid.

Blaine Anderson was singing and dancing around the Gap, accompanied by his fellow Warblers. He was apparently serenading one of the employees, singing directly to him as he followed him around the store. Kurt couldn't help but notice—once he pulled his attention away from the guy's atrocious hair—that the recipient of Blaine's attentions looked nothing short of mortified.

Not that Kurt could blame him. The song was a bit risqué in general, and entirely inappropriate for Valentine's Day. It didn't sound like a love song; it sounded like a proposition. A dirty proposition. When I get you alone, seriously? And something about legs, and toys…Kurt felt his face going rather red just acting as an innocent bystander. Luckily, Melodie wasn't one to be deterred by singing pretty boys in blazers. She appeared out of nowhere and tore him away from the spectacle, exclaiming over a sale on t-shirts that she probably intended to rip apart and splice back together into unrecognizable forms. Kurt allowed himself to be led away, and it was a good thing, too, because Melodie's sense of style obviously had its limits.

"Absolutely not, Dee," he said emphatically as she held up a butter-yellow t-shirt with Woodstock from Peanuts on it. "The color will clash with your glasses frames, and it will completely wash out your complexion."

"But—Kurt! The possibilities! Just imagine this if I turned it into a skirt, with a black crinoline under it to make it stick out a little. I could wear it with a plain black tank top—"

"No. That's my final answer. You do not need to look more like a bumblebee. I'm allergic. And anyway, I think Tina might resent the intrusion on her corner of the McKinley High fashion market."

"He's right, I would," Tina put in offhandedly as she examined a rack of band t-shirts a row over.

"See? I know what I'm doing. Now step away from the hideous shirt slowly, with your hands in the air." Melodie pouted, but she did as she was told, and Kurt felt he'd done his good deed for the day…

…until a little while later, when he happened to get to see the aftermath of Blaine's inappropriate display of "affection." Having left Tina to reign in Melodie's worst fashion impulses, Kurt was heading to Journey's to check their prices on a pair of purple Converse tennis shoes, his route taking him right past the Gap. And there stood Blaine, looking nervous and suddenly very small as the he was approached by the blonde Gap employee.

Jeremiah, apparently. And former Gap employee. Kurt didn't mean to eavesdrop, but that's what he ended up doing, and he cringed as he heard the brutal rejection. Jeremiah seemed to be trying for polite, but he was obviously pissed. Blaine had gotten him fired, so Kurt couldn't really blame him. Still, he thought it was a bit unfair for the boy to point out Blaine's status as underage right after admitting to going for coffee with him twice. Where was your concern for statutory rape laws when you were leading the poor boy on?

Kurt felt his protective streak rising up automatically. As soon as Jeremiah took his leave, he stepped out of his discreet position by a decorative plant and approached a devastated-looking Blaine.

"Hey," he said shyly. The speed with which Blaine's face brightened was startling.

"Kurt! Hey!" Blaine embraced him and pulled back, grinning from ear to ear. Kurt felt himself blush slightly. "I haven't talked to you in ages! How are you?"

"I'm…well, I'm okay. I'm here with the girls, getting some shopping done on Singles Awareness Day." Blaine grimaced at that.

"That's quite a name for it. Ugh. I used to love Valentine's Day. Now, I think I hate it."

"I can understand why," Kurt said gently. "That looked pretty brutal." Blaine groaned, mortified.

"You saw that? God. How much did you see?"

"Um…the whole thing," Kurt said, wincing on his friend's behalf. Blaine sank down onto the bench behind him and covered his face with his hands.

"My God. You must think I'm the biggest idiot," he said, his voice muffled.

Kurt grinned sympathetically and joined him on the bench.

"I wouldn't say you're an idiot. Just…maybe not very good at telling romance from innuendo." Blaine looked at him from behind his fingers, and Kurt offered him a nudge and a smile.

"It could have been worse," he said. "There could have been video footage."

Blaine groaned louder, and covered his face again.

"Oh no," Kurt said. "Don't tell me there was." Blaine just moved his head slightly: a nod.

"Jeff likes to video all our performances. For posterity. I'm sure he set up a camera before I started singing. It'll be on our YouTube channel by tomorrow morning."

"Wow." Kurt had nothing to say. He couldn't imagine being this publicly embarrassed. Even a slushie to the face didn't quite compare. "Hey," he said with another nudge, "you want to go get some coffee? It's been a full three hours since my last caffeine intake, and I'm feeling the onset of withdrawals. Also, I haven't seen you since New Year's."

Blaine emerged from the protective cocoon of his facepalming and shot Kurt a grateful smile.

"Sounds good," he said, already sounding less miserable. "And you can tell me all about the lucky guy that's keeping you too busy to answer my text messages."

Kurt grimaced. Suddenly, being serenaded in public didn't seem so bad. At least, not when compared to being insulted in private, and behind his back. Blaine took in Kurt's expression with a concerned wrinkle in his forehead and a sympathetic purse of his lips.

"Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?"

"Coffee first," Kurt insisted. "I'll need the liquid courage."

"Kurt," Blaine said softly, placing a hand over his on the table between them. "I am so, so sorry."

Kurt smiled through the tears that had inevitably fallen once he started talking about Dave, and shook his head.

"It's not your fault, Blaine," he said, wiping delicately at his eyes. Blaine squeezed his hand.

"I know. I just hate that it happened to you at all." Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand back, and felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. Blaine was the first person he'd talked to about the whole fiasco since he'd officially ended it with Dave that day at school, because, well, who could he tell? He didn't feel comfortable talking to Melodie about it, and Tina had kind of warmed to Dave when they'd hung out, so he felt uneasy about badmouthing him to her. Rachel was unable to hear anyone's problems without going off on a tangent about her own, and Mercedes…just no.

So this was…therapeutic in a way; although it really hurt to talk about it, it also felt good to get it off his chest, to talk completely freely to someone who didn't know Dave, and who cared about Kurt. He also really appreciated the fact that not once, at any point in the conversation, had Blaine ventured to say anything even remotely close to 'I told you so.' Even though he had told him that dating Dave was a bad idea from the beginning.

Kurt smiled at the boy across from him.

"How is it that we keep letting one another fade into the background?" He said it before he really thought, and blushed immediately, thinking it sounded far too—too something, but he wasn't exactly sure what. But Blaine just laughed and shook his head.

"I really don't know, but it's starting to give me a complex. With everyone else I'm usually such a front-and-center kind of guy."

"That's because you're such an attention whore," Kurt blurted, blushing again. Oh my God, internal filter, why have you forsaken me? But Blaine was laughing at him again, not looking offending in the least.

"Wow. I think you're the first person who's ever just come out and told me that to my face. Nicely put."

"Well, I'm nothing if not honest," Kurt said airily, hoping his blush didn't give away how thoroughly he was mortifying himself at the moment.

"That," Blaine said, "and you would totally know. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, Kurt, but…you might as well have 'diva' written across your forehead in big, capital ."

Now it was Kurt's turn to laugh. "Oh, you have no idea. I'd be the first to admit it. I'm the world's worst."

They both just chuckled at one another for a moment. When they fell silent, it took Kurt about a minute to realize three very important things.

First, Blaine was just looking at him, warmth in his eyes and lips stretched into a goofy grin. And if the ache of Kurt's cheeks were any indication, Kurt was grinning exactly that way right back at him.

Second, he'd just been laughing with a boy over coffee. He hadn't done much laughing with anyone in the last couple of weeks. Even the antics of his big goofball of a brother hadn't been able to make him crack a real smile since the football game. This was the best he'd felt in more days than he cared to count.

Third…he and Blaine were holding hands. Their arms were resting across the table, their hands clasped together as casually as you please. Blaine's skin was warm against Kurt's, and soft except for the pads of his fingers, which were slightly calloused. He was absentmindedly stroking his thumb back and forth across Kurt's knuckles.

Kurt felt something flip somewhere in the region of his stomach. He withdrew his hand under the pretense of grabbing his cup and taking another sip of coffee, averting his eyes from Blaine's as he did so. Blaine didn't seem perturbed by this at all; he just ducked his head almost sheepishly and took a sip of his drink as well.

As soon as Kurt set his cup down, though, Blaine reached across and recaptured Kurt's hand in his.

"Hey…thanks for cheering me up, Kurt. And…don't be such a stranger from now on, okay? I've missed you since New Year's."

Kurt smiled, and squeezed Blaine's hand again. "I won't. I missed you too."

They were silent for a moment, just gazing at one another. Kurt felt his face grow red under the intensity of Blaine's stare. The other boy seemed to be searching for something in his eyes. A moment later, it seemed like he'd found it, and his own eyes lit up with another dazzling smile.

"I just got a brilliant idea," he said, leaning forward eagerly. Kurt cocked his head to one side, curious.

"Do tell," he said, wincing internally at how breathless he suddenly sounded.

"Well…it's Valentine's Day after all," Blaine began, and Kurt's heartbeat seemed to stutter and then stop all together as he waited, wondering if Blaine was really about to suggest what he thought Blaine was about to suggest.

"Yes?" The breathless voice was really getting somewhat ridiculous. This was Blaine for crying out loud! Blaine, his random friend that he texted occasionally. Lead singer of a rival show choir and fellow gay. He was just serenading another guy not twenty minutes ago, what are you thinking?

"I was thinking…would you like to go to dinner with me tonight?" Kurt's heart abruptly decided to resume beating, only at a much more frantic pace than usual.

"What about…I thought you wanted to spend Valentine's Day with Jeremiah." Blaine smiled ruefully.

"I'm sure I gave off that impression, what with the serenading him and all, but honestly?" He leaned even farther forward, pitching his voice low and adopting an expression that was half sheepish, half conspiratorial. "I've been wanting to ask you out since I bumped into you again at Sectionals."

Kurt stared at Blaine, taking in his full, red lips and his bright amber eyes with their thick frame of black lashes. He took a deep breath, and smelled a subtle mix of Blaine's cologne and whatever product he used on his hair. It was heavenly, boyish and wholly different from—but he didn't allow himself to complete that thought. He felt a flutter in his stomach and latched onto it desperately, magnified it in his mind until it drowned out whatever leftover sadness or uneasiness he was feeling as well. Kurt could do this. He could have a real date with a boy who was happy to be seen with him in public. One date couldn't hurt anything, right?

"Well, Mr. Anderson, today's your lucky day. I accept."


	28. Valentine's Day: Interlude

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Valentine's Day, Interlude**

* * *

_February 14_ _th_ _, 2011_

* * *

Dave sat on the edge of his bed, staring at a little rectangular box in his hands. Today was Valentine's Day. Today was the day he was going to start figuring out how to fix the giant mess he'd made with Kurt.

While Melodie had been ignoring him and having her own personal troubles, while Kurt had been avoiding him and shutting off his feelings behind his hurt, while Dave himself had been moping and refusing to exist in the world anymore than he absolutely had to…something had changed. He guessed the tipping point had been yesterday, when he'd heard a knock on his door and then heard the muffled voice of Azimio Adams saying, "Dude, lemme in. We need to talk."

* * *

_February 13_ _th_ _, 2011_

* * *

Dave blinked and sat up, staring at his door in disbelief.

"Az?" He said, voice hoarse with disuse and full of shock.

"Yeah, man, lemme in."

"Go away," Dave said halfheartedly, rolling over to bury his face in his pillow. Of course, Azimio had never known when to quit.

"I ain't going anywhere until you let me in to talk to you man," he said through the door. Dave didn't respond.

"C'mon," Az said, a note of whining creeping into his tone, "Don't make me break the door down. Your mom'll be pissed, and I could throw out my shoulder or somethin'."

Dave remained silent. He didn't really think Azimio would try to break the door down. After a minute of silence, Dave rolled over, figuring Az had given up and gone away.

"Fine, I see how it's gonna be." Apparently, Dave wasn't that lucky. "You want me to ask your cousin for help? Word on the street that chick can pick any lock known to man."

Dave sighed and sat up, making a mental note to talk to his mom about Melodie's budding career as a cat burglar sometime. He reluctantly went to the door and unlocked it, returning to the bed without deigning to actually open it. Hearing the  _snick_ of the deadbolt turn, Azimio opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him and regarding his friend with an expression that was half-annoyed, half-guilty.

"What the hell gives, Karofsky? You haven't talked to me in weeks, man."

"Yeah, well, you never could take a hint," Dave said bitterly, voice slightly muffled by the pillow under his chin.

"Ouch. I'm hurt. Mind telling me exactly what your problem is?" At  _that,_ Dave rolled over and sat up, fixing Azimio with a fierce glare.

"Like you even have to  _ask?_ Like you didn't stand there and egg me on knowing  _exactly_ what you were doing and  _exactly_ how scared I was and  _exactly_ what was gonna happen? I dunno what surprises me more: that you had the nerve to show up here or that you even wanted to."

"Hey, hey," Azimio held up his hands in a placating gesture, "calm down, dude. First of all, we've known each other since we were kids. D'you really think there's  _anything_ you can't tell me about? Second, I had  _no idea_ Hummel was anywhere near the locker rooms, so I _didn't_ know he was gonna overhear us and dump your ass. Third, I  _didn't_  know how scared you were because you haven't really  _talked_ to me about anything all year." He sighed, letting his hands fall heavily to his sides, and plopped down into Dave's desk chair, staring at his knees and looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

"But…yeah. I knew what I was doing. And I'm really sorry, man. It was a dick move, and if I could take it back I would just come out and  _tell_ you I already knew, and that it was cool." He chanced a look at Dave's face, to find that his friend was staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

"So…you do know."

"Yeah, I know."

"That I'm  _gay."_ Dave pressed, wanting to be sure all the cards were on the table. Because there was no way it could possibly be this easy. First his mom catches him making out with a guy and barely bats an eyelash, then his best friend finds out he's dating  _the_ posterchild for all things gay, and doesn't even  _care?_ That's not how it worked.

"Yes that you're gay, what the hell did you think I was talking about?" Azimio sounded slightly annoyed now. "Look, me and Mercedes Jones were hanging out at that party at Berry's house, and we saw you kissing Hummel in her back yard. What I don't get is why you didn't just  _tell_ me about it in the first place? I'm your best friend."

Dave snorted, but the sound didn't come out as bitter as he'd intended it. His head was reeling with a strange combination of regret and relief. He had a crazy urge to laugh, but he held it back and looked sideways at his  _best friend,_ suddenly appreciating that those words were more than just a convenient title they'd attached to one another.

"Yeah, Az. We are, but—and I feel like a total girl saying this, just so you know—but I don't think I really realized what that meant until just now."

Azimio leaned back, a look of mock horror on his face. "Oh man, do we gotta hug now? 'Cause I am so not ready for all that kumbaya-ya shit."

Dave laughed—actually  _laughed—_ and shook his head. "Asshole."

"Till the day I die, bro," Az said, and there was real warmth in the words. Dave caught the double meaning, and grinned again.

"So," Azimio said after a silent moment that was heavy, but not totally uncomfortable. "Hummel, huh? I guess I can see that. Kinda. Although he's so girly I'm not sure that qualifies you as actually gay." Dave snorted at that before he could stop himself.

"Trust me, Az," he said wickedly. "He's a guy in all the ways that count."

"Gross, man," Az said without heat. "Just gross. But whatever, it's only fair. I mean, you've listened to me talk about girls for  _how_ many years now?" Dave groaned.

"More than I want to think about. Anyway, you have nothing to worry about, it's not like Kurt and I are gonna be making out anytime soon." And just like that, his brief good mood was gone.

"So you like him a lot, huh?" Azimio said, gazing at his friend's face with open concern.

"Yeah," Dave huffed the word out in a sad chuckle. "I like him a whole lot."

"Ooookayyy," Azimio said slowly. "So…why don't you try and get him back?" Dave looked at his friend as if he'd lost his mind.

"Seriously, dude? I was damn lucky to get him to even look my way the first time. You think after he gave me a chance and I let him down he's gonna  _ever_ forgive me?"

"I dunno, man," he said. "I mean, you spent most of the last two years giving him crap for being gay, and he dated you after all that, right?"

"Well…yeah. But only 'cause I apologized. And he kinda got to know me. And I can't get rid of this sneaking suspicion that my demon-spawn cousin had a hand in this whole thing somewhere."

"Dude, that chick is seriously scary," Azimio concurred. "But hey…so Hummel's seen that you  _can_ be a nice guy, right? Unlike me, you're only an asshole when you're…scared, I guess. Or pissed off. Aren't most people that way?"

"Not Kurt," Dave said. "He's—" But then he stopped. No, that wasn't quite right. Kurt really  _could_ be an asshole when he was mad, or scared. Of course, on him it looked more like  _ice bitch,_ but still. He could get really  _mean_ when he felt threatened. He got mean, and he said things that weren't true, to hurt people before they could hurt him, and to throw them off. A little smile played at the corners of Dave's lips.

"Az…you're the best, dude. Now get lost. I have some thinking to do."

Azimio grunted a laugh at his friend's abrupt dismissal, but he stood and turned toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back one more time.

"So…we cool?"

"Yeah, Az," Dave said. "We're cool."

Azimio left, and Dave locked the door behind him. He fell onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling with his arms thrown haphazardly out to either side, a grin fighting to break out across his face. He hadn't felt this good in  _weeks._ He felt lighter all of a sudden, and a little excited. Everything was suddenly thrown into sharper focus, and in his mind things were clicking into place and forming a definite plan of action.

 _Look out, Kurt Hummel,_ Dave thought, a touch giddily.  _I'm gonna get my boyfriend back._

* * *

_February 14_ _th_ _, 2011_

* * *

It was just providence that Azimio had come to him the day before Valentine's Day. Several very important things had clicked together in Dave's head. 1) Kurt could be a real jerk when he was scared, or angry, and he said things he didn't mean. 2) Kurt had shown on more than one occasion that he liked jocks, and Dave in particular. 3) Kurt had really never meant any of those things he'd said to him that day in the locker room. He'd been angry, he'd been lashing out, trying to hurt Dave with his words the way Dave had hurt him physically. So…maybe he and Kurt had never been as big of a long shot as he'd always thought.  _I mean, you know,_ he added grudgingly,  _if I hadn't been such a complete and total asshole._

And that day at school? After the football game…Kurt had been hurting then, too. He'd had every right to be, of course. But all this time, Dave had just taken everything Kurt had said at face value. He'd assumed Kurt said it was over because it was, because he really didn't want Dave anymore. What if Kurt was really just hurting and trying to hurt Dave back so Dave would leave him alone?

As soon as that thought came into his head, Dave latched onto it like a life preserver in the middle of the ocean.  _That has to be it,_ he thought. He'd seen Kurt in the halls; he wasn't doing much better than Dave, by all accounts. He went through the motions of being his fabulous self, but the spark was gone. He was miserable, even if most people didn't know him well enough to see it. So Dave's course of action now was obvious: he just had to convince Kurt he was really sorry, that he really  _could_ change. He had to show Kurt that he would never hurt him that way again, and get him to let the wall down just one more time and let Dave in again. Let him make Kurt happy again.

 _If he'll just give me another chance,_ Dave thought,  _I can be better for him. I can be good enough for him._

And the first step to being good enough for him, Dave knew, was going to be the hardest. He stared down at the box in his hands for a full minute, gathering courage from the strength of his conviction that Kurt Hummel was sitting somewhere, loving him and missing him and denying both feelings. Then, he sat the box aside and stood up, walked out of his room and down the hall to his parents' room, where his mother was preparing for dinner out with his dad. He knocked on the door frame to get her attention.

"Mom?" She turned from her vanity mirror, hands paused at her ear where she was putting on an earring. She looked surprised to see him.

"Hello, David. Did you need something, sweetie?"

"Um…do you have a minute? I need to talk to you about…about Kurt." His courage wavered, and his voice dropped almost to a whisper, but he'd gotten the words out. That was something. His mother fixed him with her steady hazel eyes, exactly like his own. She stopped fiddling with her earrings and stood, turning to face her son fully.

"Of course, David," she said gently. "Come sit. Your father won't be home for about an hour."

Dave nodded, joining his mother where she'd sat on the foot of her bed. Hesitantly—their family really wasn't much for displays of affection these days—she brushed his hair back from his forehead the way she had done at night when he was little. He found he missed this small gesture, and he felt a lump in his throat forming. He suddenly wasn't sure he'd be able to talk around the tight feeling in his chest.

"Mom," he choked out. "I'm…I'm…" He stopped. He couldn't go on. He took a shaky breath and let it out in a dry sob. His mother looked at him, at the miserable slump of his shoulders and his face full of pain, and she took him into her arms.

"Go on and say it, Davey," she said softly. "I love you. Just go ahead and tell me."

His courage cracked, but his mother's arms were there to hold him together.

"I'm gay," he gasped out around the lump in his throat. The only response was a tightening of arms around him. Dave broke. He cried like a child into his mother's shoulder, tears of relief from all the terror and shame that had been building in him for the last two years, maybe longer. Gina Karofsky just held her son, rocking him gently and reminding him every other breath that she loved him. All the while, she wondered to herself why she hadn't said this to him every day, when she had gotten so detached that her son had ever been left to doubt or wonder whether he could ever do anything that would make her stop loving him.

"I love you Davey. No matter what. No matter who you love. I love you."


	29. Valentine's Day, Part 2

"So…" Blaine trailed off, and Kurt had to smile at the nervous blush that spread across Blaine's face as he averted his eyes. Seeing gorgeous, confident Blaine Anderson blush because of him? It was a heady feeling.

"So?" he returned coyly, his lips automatically quirking into a little half smile. Blaine glanced at him and smiled back, his blush deepening.

"Well…I just thought…since I did the asking, I guess that technically makes me the 'dater' for the night. You, of course, being the 'datee.'" Blaine glanced at him with an almost apologetic look that Kurt didn't quite understand. He smiled encouragingly, and Blaine seemed to sit up a little straighter in his chair, regaining some of his natural showmanship. "So…as my datee…where would you like to go for Valentine's Day? The sky's the limit." He punctuated this declaration with a wild gesticulation of his hands.

Kurt had to laugh at Blaine's enthusiasm. He was slightly amazed at how easy this was. He'd thought it would be so difficult to find someone who could distract his attention from the Dave debacle (as he was starting to call it in his head). And, okay, he hadn't _forgotten_ about it. That little ache in his chest was still there, but it didn't throb quite so much to think about it right now, with Blaine sitting across from him and acting like getting a date with him was the be-all and end-all of epic Valentine's Day gifts.

 _Oh my God,_ he thought as it hit him full-force.  _I'm going to go on a date. A_ real  _date._ A real date on Valentine's Day, in public, with a boy who would hold his hand and never think twice about running into people they knew looking like a couple.  _Scratch that,_ he thought giddily.  _A_ gorgeous _boy who'll hold my hand and never think twice._ He was pretty sure that if there were a pictorial definition of male beauty, Blaine was it, and for whatever reason, suddenly Kurt had his undivided attention. He was offering to take Kurt out, anywhere he wanted to go.  _Something Dave would never do,_ he couldn't help but think.

Kurt knew exactly where he wanted to go. It wasn't romantic or fancy in the least, but it was where any teenager in Lima, Ohio would go for their first date. It was where all his friends would likely be. And he had never expected, for even a second of his life, to be able to take part in the cliché with them as half of a couple instead of a third wheel. He grinned across the table at Blaine.

"How do you feel about bread sticks?"

* * *

"Sam,  _where_ are we going?"

"You'll see," Sam said with a lopsided smile. "Just wait a little longer, gotta time it right."

"It's going to be dark soon, Sammy. All the tables at Breadstix'll be full."

"I know," Sam said casually. "We're not going to Breadstix. We're going to enjoy riding aimlessly around town for awhile, engage in a little bit of light criminal activity, and then have a picnic under the stars."

Melodie raised an eyebrow, but made no complaint. A dinner at Breadstix was painfully cliché, anyway.

"You have my attention," she said cautiously.

"Good, 'cause we're here." Sam pulled into a parking space beside a nondescript office building, grabbing his backpack from the back seat before he jumped out. He made a mad dash for the other side to open Melodie's door for her, but by the time he got there she was already clambering out. He shook his head in mock sadness.

"My training as a Southern gentleman is totally wasted on you," he said.

"Yep," she replied, cheerfully unrepentant. "So…giving you the benefit of the doubt here, Sammy. Let's go." He grabbed her hand and pulled her, laughing, across the parking lot and around to a side door marked "Authorized Personnel Only." Pulling out a key card, he scanned it and stepped inside, dragging Melodie after him.

It was dark inside, and Melodie blinked rapidly before removing her sunglasses so she could see in the dim light. They were in a stairwell, cinderblock walls and white linoleum tiled floors, and a nondescript door just opposite the one they had come through that had a little black box beside it, like the one Sam had used the key card on. He didn't head for this door, however. Instead, he pulled Melodie after him as he started up the stairs.

"Sam," she whispered, not sure how alone they were or whether they were even supposed to be here. "Where are we going? Are we even allowed in here?"

"Uh…not technically. But it's no big deal. This is the 'light criminal activity' I mentioned," he said sheepishly.  _That_ pulled Melodie up short.

"Seriously? What the hell, Sam? I mean, I love a thrill as much as the next girl, but  _breaking_ and  _entering?_ We could get into some serious trouble!"

"Hey, hey…calm down," Sam said, stopping and placing his backpack carefully against the wall before grabbing both of her hands—which had been busy gesticulating wildly at him a moment before—and holding them still between them. "We won't get in trouble, I swear. I mean, first of all, there was absolutely  _no_ breaking involved." Melodie snorted.

"Oh nice, I'm sure the judge will reduce our sentences by a whole two days for that little technicality." Sam rolled his eyes and grinned down at her.  _Wow, is it that irritating when_ I  _do that?_ She thought.

"Look, my dad works in the building. We won't stay too long if you don't want. I just…wanted to show you this one thing. And then we can go. But either way, nobody's gonna yell at us. If we get caught, I'll just say I was grabbing something from his office for him. It's no big deal."

She stared at him, still dubious but much calmer. After a few seconds, she relented.

"Fine. But if I see flashing blue lights I'm using you as a shield for the getaway."

"Absolutely," he said, grabbing his bag before continuing up the stairs, Melodie in tow.

* * *

Dave took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders a couple of times, trying to release the tension there and stave off the whopper of a migraine he could feel settling into the base of his skull and the space behind his eyes. He absolutely  _loathed_ crying, and all the side effects of it. He had managed to get himself under control with a very hot shower, and by pointedly thinking of anything at all except for the talk he'd had with his mother.

It wasn't easy. Actually, it was a billion times harder than he thought it would be. He had been mentally preparing himself for the moment he would tell his  _father,_ and he had known that would be difficult. What he hadn't known was how his insides would all clench up into terrified knots and make it difficult for him to  _breathe,_ much less speak, when he tried to say the words aloud to his mother, who technically already knew. That millisecond after he'd said it was the most harrowing moment of his life, and then his mother had held him and let him cry all over her shoulder, and told him it would be okay. She'd accepted him, gay and all. She even offered to help him tell his father when he was ready.

But first, there was someone Dave needed to apologize to. Someone he needed back on his side and in his arms. There was a dull ache in his chest every time he thought about Kurt, but he was hoping—praying—that if he apologized, and could prove to Kurt that he really wasn't ashamed of him or of being gay, Kurt might give him another chance.

He tucked Kurt's Valentine into the pocket of his letterman jacket and walked down the stairs as quietly as possible, thankful that Sam had taken Melodie for the night. At least there wouldn't be any awkward questions or snide remarks from that quarter for a few hours.

Once in his truck, Dave grabbed his phone and dialed a number he rarely used, but thankfully had never deleted.

"What up?"

"Mercedes? It's Dave."

"Uh…hi." She sounded utterly bewildered. Dave couldn't blame her; he'd only used her number to get in touch with Melodie on a few occasions, back before… _before I screwed everything up,_ he thought sadly.

"Hey. Look, I know this is weird, and I know you haven't talked to him much lately, but…any chance you know where Kurt is right now?"

"Dave," she said, sounding sympathetic, "I  _do_ happen to know where he is, but—"

"Cool. That's great, 'cause I need to talk to him."

"Dave," she tried again, "I don't think that's such a good idea. It's Valentine's Day."

"Exactly," he said, emphatic. "It's Valentine's Day, and I need to talk to Kurt. Are you gonna help me out or not?"

There was a long pause, and Dave held his breath.  _C'mon, Jones. You owe me. You owe both of us._ Finally:

"He's at Breadstix," she almost sighed, "But I really don't—"

"Thanks Mercedes, you're the best," Dave said, ecstatic. He hung up before she could say anything else.

* * *

Being on a Real Date was turning out to be everything Kurt had ever dreamed of…except that Dave kept sneaking into his thoughts in obnoxious little ways. The way the waitress smiled at the two of them fondly and led them to a booth made Kurt think of how Dave would feel seeing such obvious, immediate acceptance. Blaine looked up from under his eyelashes, smiling at him from across the table, back straight and hands in his lap as he perused the menu…and Kurt thought of the way Dave used to grin lopsidedly over his coffee cup, leaning forward with both elbows propped on the table.  _Stop it! Dave isn't here on a date with you. Dave would never come here on a date with you, but Blaine did. Blaine_ is.

"Hey," said Blaine gently, "Where'd you go?" Kurt jerked in his seat and smiled sheepishly at his date.

"It's nothing," he said too quickly, and Blaine's curious expression softened into concern. He reached a hand out across the table, and Kurt took it without hesitation.

"Kurt," he said, voice warm and face open, "Did he ever hold your hand like this? Out where anyone could see?" Kurt blushed to know he'd been caught and marveled that Blaine could read him so easily. He grimaced at their clasped hands.

"No," he said softly after a moment. "He didn't. But…he was so afraid. You just don't know—"

"Don't I?" Blaine interjected. "Don't you? Weren't you afraid before you came out?" Kurt nodded reluctantly. He'd been terrified. Of course he had. But somehow he didn't think that was a fair comparison; Dave wasn't Kurt. Dave's life wasn't Kurt's. His parents, his friends…they weren't the same.

"I was so scared," Kurt said. "But…I knew my friends would love me. And let's face it... my sexuality was pretty much an open secret. Dave is…different. It's harder for him, I think." He didn't know why he was defending his ex-boyfriend against the very thoughts he'd had time and time again in the last few weeks. They just didn't sound right coming from someone else.

"Really? You said his mom knew. Apparently his best friend was okay with it. And he'd started hanging out with your friends, who are all fine with  _you_ being gay—"

"None of which gives us the right to sit here and judge him for not coming out before he's ready," Kurt said, sharper than he'd intended. His hand twitched in Blaine's, but he didn't quite attempt to draw it away. Blaine looked alarmed.

"No…I'm sorry, Kurt. I didn't mean that. I know everyone has to come out when they're ready. I don't begrudge him that. I just…"

"What?" Kurt said, attempting to reign in his impatience. Dave Karofsky was  _not_ what he'd had in mind for dinner conversation on his first real date.

"I guess…" Blaine hesitated, blushing and staring at Kurt's hand in his as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. He tightened his grip slightly. "I guess I just can't understand someone  _wanting_ to hide when they have you. I can't imagine being able to keep that kind of thing a secret, no matter how scary the alternative is. I'm sorry if I upset you."

Kurt thawed a little at that; how could he  _not?_  He offered Blaine a tentative smile.

"Understood and agreed, Mr. Anderson," he said. "Now, no more ex talk. It's Valentine's Day. Romance me." He said this last part dramatically, with a flourish of the hand not holding Blaine's across the table, and Blaine laughed.

"Why, absolutely, Mr. Hummel," he said. "I will woo thee with garlicky pasta."

Kurt giggled, and Blaine beamed, and it was suddenly comfortable again. Dave Karofsky was safely in the background where, Kurt insisted to himself, he belonged. He relaxed in his seat and focused determinedly on the boy in front of him.

* * *

Melodie stared out over the rooftops of Lima, Ohio. It seemed both bigger and smaller from her current vantage point, outlined in traffic lights and street lamps, details hidden by the darkness and sound muted by her elevation above it all. She shivered as a particularly cold wind whipped past, and Sam slipped an arm around her shoulders.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, leaning into his warmth. "It's…thank you, Sam. I love it."

"I thought it beat the heck outta Breadstix, anyway," he said cheerfully, keeping his tone as light as possible. "Do you want to have our picnic up here, or is it too cold?" She looked up at him awkwardly, tucked under his arm as she was. His hair was getting a bit long; it fell into his eyes and flipped outward slightly at the ends. She marveled at the way the lights from the town below reflected in his eyes, making them look invaded with starlight. He waited for an answer, but none came; she just stared silently up at him, seeing the way his eyes lingered softly on hers, content to stay there and wait as long as she needed, to let her pause and let her think, but never to allow her to worry or stress or torture herself over all of the possibilities, what-ifs, and shouldn'ts. She found that when it came to Sam, she had to do all her worrying alone. In his presence she was simply too calm, and he was far too undemanding. He just…waited for her, all the time.

"I love you too," she blurted, eyes widening with horror as she heard what she was saying. She wanted immediately to take it back, to run away and then pretend like the devil it had never happened. It was like she was frozen in time by her own words and couldn't do _anything._

Sam looked down at her with laughter in his eyes.

"I thought we agreed," he said, "to no more spontaneous declarations of love?" Melodie gaped at him.  _I say 'I love you' and he says 'I thought we agreed?' What the actual…_

"Samuel Evans, if you don't kiss me right now I will throw you off this rooftop with no regrets." At that, the laughter finally reached his mouth, and he turned and wrapped both arms around her as he practically  _cackled_ at her glaring face.

"Dammit, Sam, this isn't funny! Stop laughing at me!" She said half-angrily, but she was already starting to laugh as well. It was so utterly ridiculous. It was so utterly  _Sam_ , and  _them._ His only response to her indignant outburst was to pull her closer and bury his cold, laughing face in her short, multi-toned hair.

"Am I allowed to say it now, or will you run off again?" He whispered when they'd both managed to calm down a bit. She shivered, but not from the cold, and turned her face to catch his gaze again, heart pounding in her throat. The caution had already been thrown; the wind had carried it far, far away where it couldn't stop her mouth from admitting what her heart had been feeling all along…maybe since the first time she'd felt his lips on hers.

"You can say it," she said, voice barely above a whisper. " _Please_  say it." On a rooftop, under stars and above the lights of the little town she was so terrified of getting too attached to, she was ready to latch onto Sam Evans and never let go, if he just gave her the word.

"I love you, Melodie Bloom," he said simply. Melodie half laughed, half gasped into his mouth as he bent to kiss her, twining both arms around his shoulders and pulling herself up onto her tiptoes, pressing every inch of herself as close to him as she could get and just getting lost—completely lost, like she had never allowed herself to be before—in everything that was Sam. She was still laughing when they finally broke apart.

"Oh, Sammy," she said, chuckling as she ran a hand through his over-long mop of hair. " _That_ was a thousand times cheesier and more cliché than any date to Breadstix."

* * *

Kurt had just asked for the check when his phone started buzzing continuously. He looked at the display screen: Mercedes Jones. He scowled. Mercedes hadn't even  _attempted_ to talk to him since That Night, and he had no idea why she would be calling him now. He pressed 'Ignore' _._

Less than two seconds later, the phone was buzzing again. Sighing dramatically, he shot Blaine an apologetic look. "Sorry," he said. "Let me just step out for a moment and see what she needs." Blaine nodded amiably.

"I'll be right here," he said, grinning. Kurt rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile. Except for that little road bump at the beginning, the date had been  _fantastic._ He and Blaine had more in common than he could ever have imagined: a passion for fashion, a keen interest in civil rights, an ardent love of music. And yet, Blaine was just different enough to make things interesting. He liked football. He seemed really into pop music, especially Katy Perry and Pink, whereas Kurt's great loves were and always would be the great divas of Broadway: Patti LuPone, Barbra Streisand. So similar it was like they were of one mind sometimes, they still managed to surprise one another, and Kurt loved it.

Of course, Kurt's traitorous brain had persisted in reminding him of Dave throughout the night, but these instances were growing fewer and farther between, and were getting less and less Dave-positive every time. Dave, for example, had never been able to really explain the rules of football to Kurt. Dave didn't have a favorite  _Vogue_ cover. Dave couldn't have debated whether or not Perez Hilton was a legitimate gay role model, because he probably didn't even know who Perez Hilton  _was._

Kurt sighed as he stepped out into the cold air.  _Yes,_ he thought,  _Blaine Anderson is just about perfect in all of the ways that David Karofsky was woefully deficient._

He was just about to check his phone when he heard a voice that nearly made him drop it into the nearby storm drain.

"Kurt!"

It was Dave. He was jogging up the sidewalk toward Kurt, face flushed from the cold and hands shoved into the pockets of his letterman. His eyes were bright with something Kurt didn't quite recognize—that  _infuriatingly_ made his breath catch—and when Dave stopped in front of him, Kurt could see even in the dim light of the street lamps that he had recently been crying. He tried not to let that knowledge soften his response to the sudden and unwelcome intrusion of his ex into his first real date.

"David," Kurt practically hissed at him, looking furious. "What the  _hell_ are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Dave replied mildly, a bit breathless from the jog. "You hanging out with the girls? I thought Melodie and Rachel were both out with Sam and Finn." That pulled Kurt up short, and he felt his face flush with angry resentment at the implication: of  _course_ Kurt was out with the girls, because it wasn't like there was anyone clamoring to take him on an actual date _. Well, get ready to stand corrected, big boy._

"For your information," he said haughtily, "I'm on a date."

"Really," Dave said, striving to sound unimpressed. "With who?"

"None of your business."

"Fair enough." Dave should have won an award for managing to keep up an unaffected air. The idea that Kurt was out on a date with another guy made his stomach churn and his chest ache, but he pushed the feelings down as far as he could. Which wasn't very far, when it came right down to it.

"Well," he said awkwardly, "I, uh…I guess I'll leave you to that, then. I just…Happy Valentine's Day, Kurt." He held the box out to Kurt, who somehow managed to take it without allowing their fingers to touch, looking both surprised and a little wary.

"What is it?" He asked. Dave shrugged, no longer meeting his eyes. Kurt's heart gave a particularly fierce throb, as if it was trying to remind him that it was still broken, however many hours he'd managed to pretend otherwise for just one day. He wanted to be angry about this—couldn't he be allowed even a single day to  _not_ be in mourning over their failed relationship?—but he could see the echoes of his own misery in every detail of Dave's appearance. When he spoke, he found to his chagrin that his bitchy attitude had abruptly deserted him entirely.

"David…"

"Just…open it when you get home, okay? Not in front of your date."

Kurt didn't know what to do. He shouldn't take the gift; he knew he shouldn't. But he had seen that momentary shine in Dave's eyes— _heart, stop fluttering—_ and had also seen how quickly it went out as soon as Kurt had uttered the word "date." He had a feeling refusing the gift would  _really_ hurt Dave, and in spite of everything he didn't want to do that. This was the most contact they'd had since they'd broken up, and he would rather not add unnecessary pain to the already palpable awkwardness in the air. So he just nodded. Dave smiled weakly and started to walk away.

"Have a good time tonight, Kurt," he tossed over his shoulder. And that should have been it.

Who was he kidding? That was never it with Kurt.

"David. Wait." Dave kept walking, but then he felt pressure on his arm, and looked down to find a pale, long-fingered hand tugging at his sleeve, pulling him around to face Kurt again.

"I…" Kurt choked on whatever words his traitorous heart was prompting him to try to say.  _I miss you. I still love you. I wish we could go back. I wish I didn't still want you so much._ Dave seemed to understand anyway. He smiled sadly, withdrawing his arm from under Kurt's hand and stepping just outside of his reach.

"I love you," he said simply. "I hope you have fun on your date." And he walked away, shoulders hunched against the cold and hands shoved in his pockets again, leaving Kurt standing alone, clutching the little box in both hands and screaming internally. He felt pulled in so many directions at once that all he could do was stand still and watch Dave go, helpless to stop or even to stop caring.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there when Blaine came looking for him.

"Kurt?" Blaine slipped an arm through his, voice full of concern. Kurt leaned into his warmth automatically, finding that he needed the support. It was like Blaine's presence broke some kind of evil spell: the pain dulled, the desperate longing quieted, the after-burn of that brief light in Dave's eyes was soothed ever so slightly, and Kurt found that he was flesh and blood, not ice. He could move and speak again.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I ran into…a friend." Blaine's expression might as well have been written in letters ten feet high. He knew exactly who Kurt had run into.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly. Kurt nodded, pressing the box against his stomach as he let Blaine lead him down the street towards his car. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Kurt shook his head. Blaine pressed his lips together tightly, nodded, and gripped Kurt's arm a little more firmly. "Okay," he said. Kurt could have died of relief; anyone else in his life would have pushed.

The car ride home was mostly quiet. Kurt spent it looking despondently at the little box in his lap, torn between a burning curiosity and a wild impulse to throw it out the window. He could  _feel_ Blaine glancing at it over and over, but he didn't ask. Bless him. When he saw a single tear slide down Kurt's cheek and pause, gleaming, on his jaw before falling to be lost in the collar of his coat, Blaine wordlessly pulled him across the seat, tucking him into his side and planting a sweet, chaste kiss on his forehead. He started humming something soft and sweet, a tune Kurt didn't recognize. He relaxed in Blaine's embrace, buried his face in Blaine's neck and breathed in deeply, letting the scent and the sound of him calm the sudden bought of grief threatening to claw its way, shrieking, up from wherever he had managed to bury it for the past couple of weeks.

When Blaine walked him to his door, he didn't attempt to go in for a kiss. He simply wiped the tear tracks from Kurt's face with one gloved hand, pulled him into another brief hug, and left him standing there, still holding that box, with a sad departing smile and a whispered, "Call me if you need me, okay?"

Kurt had never been so grateful for a person in his entire life.

* * *

Much later, alone in his room, Kurt sat cross-legged on his bed and stared down at the mysterious box. His hands trembled as he picked it up, and he very nearly threw it across the room without opening it more than once.

Finally, though, he took a deep breath and let the lid slide off to reveal what was inside. He stared.

It was a silver chain, simple and slightly delicate, with a disproportionately large ring attached. Kurt picked it up and looked at it more closely.

It was David's class ring.


	30. Everything is Falling

Kurt sat staring at the box in his hands. It felt like he'd been doing nothing else for days. Sure, he'd gone to school, gone to glee practice, hung out with his friends…but every time he found himself alone in his room again he was drawn like a magnet to that little box.

He had come home on Valentine's Day from his date with Blaine, run straight to his room, and tossed the box on his dresser. He'd tried his damndest to just  _ignore_ it since then, just not look at it, just go to sleep and firmly refrain from hoping that it would all be a dream when he woke up. If he gave it that much acknowledgement…well, then he'd have to acknowledge it, wouldn't he?

He couldn't sleep the entire night.

The next morning he tossed it into the top drawer of his dresser on his way out, but that didn't stop him from thinking about it every time he let his brain fall silent during the day, and that didn't stop his hand from burning where he'd touched it ever-so-briefly for hours afterward. It was driving him crazy having that little piece of Dave just  _sitting_ there, nestled in amongst neatly folded trouser socks. It made it impossible to ignore Dave himself, and that was even worse.

Before, he'd been moving on autopilot, fueled by hurt and anger, and that made it easy to not look at Dave in the hallway. It was a simple matter, not to glance toward him at lunch, or care about the miserable slump of his shoulders. He could ignore the ache in his arms when they didn't reach out to Dave, the protest in his lips when they went day after day without kissing Dave, the constant stream of questions in his mind:  _why are we doing this? Why can't I forgive him? Why aren't we together? Why am I hurting so much when he's_ right there?

At the start of his Valentine's Day, he'd thought that maybe Blaine was going to step in and make it all so much easier: he eased the pain when he was sitting across from Kurt and making him laugh. He made it easy to forget, for short stretches of time. When Kurt had looked across the table at Blaine, he could see it: the two of them walking arm and arm down the street, grinning adoringly at one another while they talked about the latest issue of  _Vogue;_ Blaine standing on his doorstep with flowers held behind his back, looking nervous as Kurt introduced him to Burt, Carole, and Finn. Blaine introducing Kurt to  _his_ parents, as his boyfriend. Blaine and Kurt curled up on Kurt's bed, fingers entwined and arms and legs tangled, torsos pressed together and Blaine's head on his shoulder while they watched some movie or other…it didn't much matter what, but Kurt bet Blaine was into musicals.

Then Dave— _damn him—_ handed him that box and it all came crashing down. For a full 24 hours it was all Kurt could do not to show up on Dave's doorstep with the box in hand, begging Dave to hold him, to kiss him, to remind him how it felt not to have this gaping chasm of pain in his mind at all times. He'd managed  _not_ to do that—thank goodness for the Hummel pride—but only just barely.

It had been a week, and he had refused to open the box again after that first night. He'd tried to ignore Dave's eyes on him, and their expression going from curious and hopeful to steadily more defeated as each day passed without a word between them. He'd tried to ignore him for that week like he'd ignored him for the previous two…but it didn't work anymore. He was hyper-aware of Dave every time they were forced to be in the same space, and when they weren't, Kurt couldn't help but let his thoughts drift Dave-ward. Even the cute texts he kept getting from Blaine every couple of hours didn't help.

Kurt opened the box in his lap with tentative fingers, and stared at the ring inside.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/raisinwrites/pic/0000zd67/)

It was just your typical class ring: silver, or something that looked like silver. He wondered if it would turn his skin green if he tried to wear it. It had a dark, square garnet and an antique finish, with the McKinley football insignia on one side of the band and on the other, 2012: the year they would graduate. Gingerly, as if he thought it really would burn him to touch it, Kurt picked the ring up and brought it close to his face, looking on the inside of the band. It was carved in strong, simple letters, all capitals: David Allen Karofsky. It had Dave written, quite literally, all over it.

Kurt dropped it back into the box and just sat there like before, staring at it and trying not to think.

* * *

Dave knew one thing for certain, and he repeated it to himself often:  _Kurt still loves you._

He could see it in the way Kurt tilted his head towards him whenever they were in the same room, the way he avoided his eyes so pointedly when before, he had simply seemed not to see that Dave was there. He could see it in the way Kurt clutched the strap of his messenger bag more tightly if Dave passed him in the hall, and—although he hated it—in the light circles under Kurt's eyes, so faint that most people probably wouldn't even notice them.

It was really the only thing keeping him standing when Kurt went another week without speaking to him, and he didn't care how melodramatic that sounded. He'd thought being a bully, being in the closet, was miserable. Fear of being outed by Kurt after that first kiss had, at the time, been the most awful thing he could imagine. None of it compared to having someone he could be honest with and someone he could be safe with, and losing that person through his own stupidity.

If there was one thing he was truly scared of at this point, it was that he had hurt Kurt so badly with the things he had said in that locker room that Kurt would never be able to get past it and  _admit_  that he still loved him.

So he was moping again.

His mother had been letting him alone for the most part, and making Melodie and his dad leave him alone as well. Dave thanked God or the universe or someone for her every time it crossed his mind lately. She let him tell her and then didn't press for more details. She didn't try to have any awkward talks with him about boys, and she didn't try to coax him into telling anyone else. There were no knowing looks cast across the dinner table or secret conversations held in the kitchen after everyone else had gone to bed. She just knew, and Dave knew she knew, and that she didn't care and would be there for him if and when he needed her. That was so much more than he had expected, and he was so terribly grateful for it.

But even the most wonderful mothers have a limited amount of patience, and after a full week of watching her son sigh and trudge unsmilingly upstairs to disappear behind his bedroom door after school every day, Gina Karofsky had had enough. Saturday morning she broke Dave's self-imposed solitude and sent in the big guns.

"Dude," Azimio said. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Z," Dave said dully, not moving from his position, sprawled on his back across his bed. Azimio made himself comfortable in Dave's desk chair and regarded his friend solemnly for a moment.

"Man, you need to quit all this sad sack bullshit." Dave didn't respond, so Azimio just kept talking.

"I'm serious! Your mom says you haven't done anything but sit up here in the dark like some creepy vampire for the last three days! Hummel must have some inches on him to get you this dick whipped."

_That_  got Dave's attention. He stared disbelievingly at his friend, who just rolled his eyes.

"What? Like you never heard me say the word 'dick' before?"

"I—"

"Sit up if you're gonna talk to me, I ain't your god damn therapist."

Dave sat up. Azimio grinned.

"That's better. Now, I take it V-Day didn't go so well." Dave made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

"I guess it went well for Kurt," he mumbled, not meeting Azimio's eye. "He was on a date."

"A date? With who? How many gay we have in this town, anyway?"

"I dunno who," Dave said, ignoring Azimio's other question. "I didn't even see the guy, I just know Kurt was there on a date with some friend of hi—" he stopped as that second question  _did_ filter through, a few beats late.

How  _had_ Kurt managed to find a date for Valentine's Day in two weeks, in Western Ohio? It wasn't that Kurt wasn't damned attractive, but this was  _Lima_. There weren't a hell of a whole lot of gay guys around, at least not out. And this guy  _had_  to be out, if he'd been on a date at Breadstix with Kurt on their busiest, most obvious date night of the year.

Dave only knew of one other gay guy Kurt knew, and if Kurt had known more Dave was sure he would have told him, if nothing else in the interest of making  _him_  more comfortable with the idea of being out. So that meant it was probably…

Dave groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

"It's hopeless," he said. "I should just give up right fucking now."

"What the hell? Why?" Dave scrubbed his face with both hands, hard, and then looked up at Azimio, his eyes defeated but his jaw working around something Azimio readily recognized as a steadily building frustration.

"Fucking  _Blaine_ ," Dave said through gritted teeth. "This pretty, perfect,  _stupid_  guy from some  _stupid_ private school over in Westerville. He was at the party Rachel threw on New Year's Eve, remember? And he was  _all over_  Kurt."

"So? What're you gonna do about it, D?"

"What am I supposed to do? Find Kurt, throw him over my shoulder, pound on my chest with my fists and carry him to the top of a building where Blaine can't get to him? He's the _perfect guy_ , Z, exactly the kind of guy you'd expect Kurt Hummel to pick for a boyfriend, and I'm—"

"—the first guy Kurt Hummel ever actually picked for a boyfriend," Azimio interrupted. Dave stared at him. Azimio stared back, hard, but after a minute his face softened.

"We've been over this, D. You fucked up. But man, Hummel  _likes_ you. He misses you, I can tell. Seen him moonin' after you in the hallway between classes when you're not looking. 'Cedes says he hasn't been himself all week, keeps staring off into space and looking all sad-eyed and shit."

Dave quirked an eyebrow at Azimio's mention of Mercedes, but he didn't say anything, and his best friend seemed totally oblivious to his slip. He was more interested in what Azimio was saying about Kurt for the moment, anyway. His brain was kicking into gear again, and he felt that feeling of excitement from Valentine's Day coming back.

He had tried to tell Kurt so many things with that gift, and then he'd backed off and let Kurt have his space. After mentioning his date, and when Kurt didn't come to talk to him, Dave just assumed it was over. But maybe he needed to say it again, and not give up so easily just because Blaine might be in the picture. Maybe he should just keep saying it, over and over, until Kurt either took him back or told him to fuck off once and for all.

Azimio was just watching Dave's mind work, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched the life come back into his friend's eyes.

"That's better," he said. "Now look, I got problems of my own to worry about. I don't wanna have to come kick your lazy ass into gear every time Hummel doesn't look at you right. I'm here for you man, but I did not sign up to be y'all's gaybysitter." Dave sputtered out a laugh.

"Our  _what?"_

"You heard me," Azimio said, getting up to leave. "Now dude, seriously. Quit acting like Romeo mooning over Rosaline, and go woo Juliet already."

"Who  _are_ you?" Dave asked, wide-eyed. Azimio shrugged and shot Dave a grin as he passed through the doorway.

"Dude, you always think you got me figured out. I'd be insulted if it weren't so damn funny."

* * *

Kurt answered his phone without looking at the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's—"

Kurt nearly dropped the phone in his rush to hit "end call." It was  _Dave_. Dave hadn't tried to call him since the football game. Kurt stared down at the phone in his hand as if it held the key to the earth's destruction. Barely a minute later, the screen lit up again and his generic ringtone—the one for numbers not in his phone—sounded. He didn't need a name to identify the caller, though. He knew those ten numbers like he knew his own address.

He hit "answer."

"…Hello?"

"Gonna hang up on me again, Kurt?" Dave's voice was soft, low…amused but also sad. It set his chest aching and made the inside of his ear itch.

"I'm sorry," he said hesitantly. "You just surprised me. Did…did you need something?"

"I just wanted to ask…if you liked my gift. I mean…if you understood….everything that it means."

Kurt's shock was fading a little, and he felt his temper flaring up to take its place.

"Well, David, as I'm not unusually stupid and I don't live under a rock,  _yes_ , I am perfectly aware of the connotations attached to gifting someone your class ring. The question I have to ask is why you bothered, seeing as you and I are no longer together."

David sighed into the phone. Kurt closed his eyes and tried not to imagine what that sigh would feel like brushing against his skin.

"I love it when you call me David. I miss hearing you call me David."

"And I have _so_  missed the sound of your dulcet tones calling me 'fag' and 'homo' in the locker rooms."

Kurt regretted saying it even before he heard the sharp, wounded intake of breath on the other end of the line. The words left a horrible taste in his mouth, and he wanted nothing more than to swallow them back, make it so he'd never said them.

"I am so sorry, Kurt. I know I can never apologize enough to make it okay. But I would do anything, and I do mean _anything_ , to make it up to you."

"I don't want you to make anything up to me, Dave," Kurt said, voice softening but still resolved. "I really hope you can be happy with yourself at some point. But you and me…there's nothing there. It's not going to happen again."

"You've always been an awful liar, Kurt," Dave said, and Kurt bristled at the hint of amusement in his voice. He had never wanted to hurt someone and kiss them at the same time so much in his life.

"Look…maybe the way we started out was dumb. We just kinda jumped in with both feet and we didn't really think about how hard it would be, for both of us. But Kurt…it could be different if you'd just give me a chance. I love you, so much. I'm not ashamed of you, or of us. And I'll show you that, I promise. You remember what I told you on New Year's?"

"Yes," Kurt managed to force out, voice barely more than a whisper.

"Well, I meant it. I don't want you to have to hide. I want you to have all those cliché, cute little couple things you want. I just…I want you to have them with  _me_.  _I_ want to have them with  _you._ Please, Kurt…let me at least try to make it up to you."

Kurt was clutching the phone to his ear so hard it hurt. He wanted to say yes. God, he really wanted to, but…he couldn't.

"I'm sorry, David," he said, when he was sure he could keep his voice under control. "Every time I look at you I remember what you said to Azimio, and I just can't do it again. Not…not right now."

"Kurt—"

"I have to go," he said. He closed his eyes, hating himself for what he was about to say but knowing it needed to be said. He had to make Dave see that they were over. "I have a date with Blaine."

"Kurt, please—"

He hit "end call."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Kurt stood staring at himself in the mirror. His face was perfect, his skin a flawless, creamy color and his eyes clear. No one could have looked at him and known that he had been crying earlier. Every hair was in place; his outfit was perfect as usual…he was ready for a date with Blaine.

As he turned to leave, his gaze fell on the top drawer of his dresser. Slowly, not knowing precisely why, he walked over and opened it, looking down at the box inside. Fingers trembling, he pulled the box out and opened it. The ring inside gleamed subtly in the light, the delicate chain just a shade too bright and polished to really match with the antique finish of the ring itself.

Without giving himself time to think about what he was doing or why, he picked the ring up, slipped the chain over his head, and let it fall down the collar of his shirt to rest, safely out of sight, against his breastbone. The metal was cool against his skin. When he looked in the mirror, he was pleased to see that his layers hid the shape of the ring from sight.

He closed the box, replaced it in the drawer, and left for his date feeling more conflicted than ever, but strangely comforted, too.


	31. Spin the Bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Use of a homophobic slur.

Kurt smiled across the table at the perfect boy sitting there. Because he really _was_ perfect. They had been getting coffee together, or dinner, or seeing movies together almost every day for nearly a month, and still, Kurt felt like he could just marvel at him for hours: the clear, honey-bright color of his eyes, the way his curls liked to escape their gelled order and fall across his forehead from time to time, the way he grinned bashfully around a bite of biscotti when he noticed Kurt staring…

 _Oops. Drat._ Kurt blushed and dropped his gaze to the table, feeling his traitorous mouth split into a smile in spite of himself.

"Do I have something on my face?" Kurt looked up to find Blaine brushing at non-existent crumbs. He chuckled, shaking his head.

"You're…you're cute," Kurt blurted without really thinking. _Oh my God._ He glued his eyes back to the table, feeling his blush creeping all the way to his hairline. But Blaine huffed a laugh and reached across the table, linking his fingers with Kurt's and squeezing gently.

"Hey," he said. Kurt looked up reluctantly. Blaine's eyes were just _shining,_ and was Kurt imagining things, or was there a blush staining his cheeks as well?

"You're adorable," Blaine said. "I…I'm really glad I met you, Kurt. I really… _really_ care about you."

Kurt found himself grinning, probably too widely, in spite of his embarrassment.

"I know what you mean," he said, squeezing Blaine's fingers back. "Everything feels _right_ when I'm with you."

They just sat there for a moment, holding hands and staring into each other's eyes.

"Be my boyfriend."

Now Kurt _knew_ he wasn't imagining it: Blaine's entire face was red, and his eyes had slipped down, fixing on their joined hands like they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen. Kurt didn't know what to say.

"I know you still miss…him. Dave." Blaine seemed to stutter over the other boy's name. "You never say it. You never talk about him, but I know you must still be hurting. But…I think I help, maybe a little? I hope I do. I want to."

"Blaine," Kurt started, but Blaine just kept talking, as if afraid he wouldn't be able to finish if he let himself stop. He kept holding onto Kurt's hand, with both of his now, and looking into Kurt's face with so much earnest caring it was nearly painful to watch.

"You're an incredible person, Kurt. I really admire… _everything_ about you. I would be _so proud_ to have you as a boyfriend. If you let me, I will do _anything_ to make you happy, and make sure you always know how proud I am to be with you."

Kurt could only stare. Here was this gorgeous, sweet, painfully sincere boy who cared about him and would be glad— _proud_ —to be with him. So why was he hesitating? Why did hazel eyes and larger hands, secret kisses and covert glances between classes rush through his head? Why was he hyper-aware of the touch of skin-warm metal against his breastbone, hidden beneath his sweater, just over his heart?

But Dave hurt him. He didn't mean to, Kurt knew. But Kurt was once burned and twice shy. How did he know Dave wouldn't accidentally hurt him again? How could he ever trust his heart to such unsure hands?

He couldn't.

But…here was Blaine: sitting across from him in public, holding his hand, oblivious to anything but Kurt and asking for his broken, damaged heart like it was something new, precious and whole. He was fully aware that Kurt was still thinking of Dave, yet waited with baited breath for permission to be the one to try and help him start to forget.

"Yes," Kurt breathed. "Of course."

Blaine's brilliant smile drowned out whatever little pangs of guilt Kurt might have felt.

* * *

"We need something that's going to wow the judges and really get their attention! We absolutely _cannot_ lose Regionals again this year! If we're going to win, we have to give them something new and fresh. We should write original songs."

Kurt sighed and tried to block Rachel out as she went on another of her many rants, attempting to convince the rest of the club to go along with her insane idea. Sure, writing brand-new songs for Regionals would be great in theory, but in reality he was pretty sure that in their baker's dozen of glee club members they didn't have a poetic bone to split between them.

And then Melodie had to speak up.

"You know…Rachel has a point. If we could write a really good song for Regionals, it would blow the judges away. What's the harm in trying? We still have a month. We can practice a more traditional set list in the meantime, and if we don't have songs good enough in a couple of weeks we can drop the idea."

"Thank you Melodie, for that vote of confidence," Rachel said, looking surprised. For his part, Kurt was more suspicious than anything else. He adored Melodie, but by now he knew that for her to agree with Rachel on something, there had to be a pretty compelling payoff. After class, he caught up with her just as she was leaving with Sam.

"What are you up to?" He asked bluntly. Truth be told, he hadn't spent much time with Melodie outside of glee club for the last few weeks. But that hadn't been enough time to erase his memory, and he recognized that glint in her eye. Melodie tried—and failed—to look innocent.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Rachel's got a good idea."

"Sure, if you completely discount the fact that the last song she wrote was about a hair accessory."

"Kurt, I'm shocked. I figured you'd be the _last_ person to question the poetic importance of fashion." If he could have wrung her voice out like a rag, it would have _poured_ sarcasm. Kurt's eyes narrowed.

"Okay, fine. You go ahead and play innocent. I know better, and I can sniff out a secret faster than you can find the world's most hideous t-shirt in a bargain bin."

Melodie's innocent expression hardened to match Kurt's and she stepped away from Sam until she was almost nose-to-nose with her friend. Sam had the good sense to keep his distance, watching the two with widened eyes.

"Kurt, you're my friend so I'll give you some advice: never try to beat a master at her own game. You will lose, and it won't be pretty." She stepped back, all smiles again. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a song to write."

Kurt watched her go, a funny twist of dread in his stomach. Melodie wasn't particularly vindictive—as far as he knew—but he was still pretty sure that whatever she had in mind, he wasn't going to like it.

* * *

"So what was that with you and Kurt after glee practice today?" Melodie looked up from her homework to see Sam looking over at her from under his hair, expression serious and the book in front of him going completely unread. She sighed.

"Sammy, how am I supposed to help you with your English homework if you don't read the book?"

"I'll read the book," Sam said, "but don't try to change the subject. You and Kurt are friends, why were you up in each other's faces? Did you guys have some kinda fight?"

Melodie considered for a minute. Should she tell Sam what had happened with Kurt and Dave? Well, she couldn't, not without outing her cousin to another member of the glee club. Could she trust him not to get in her way if she told him what she was planning? She was still considering when Sam spoke again.

"It's something to do with Karofsky, isn't it."

Melodie's head snapped up. She stared at Sam for a moment before her shocked expression collapsed into a soft smile.

"I keep underestimating you, and you keep surprising me. You don't miss much, do ya?"

"I'm pretty, but I ain't dumb," Sam said, only half-returning her smile as he set his book aside and scooted over to settle next to her on the bed. She leaned into the warmth of his shoulder, sighing.

"How much do you already know?"

"Well, I know Kurt and Karofsky used to hate each other. Then you came along, and suddenly they're hanging out all the time, and Kurt is calling him "Dave," and Karofsky isn't growling like an angry bear at everything that moves…and then they danced at the wedding…and…" he trailed off, but Melodie nudged him with her shoulder.

"That it?" Sam sighed.

"No. I saw Kurt and…and Dave after the game. They were…they looked like…" he stopped, turning to search her face. "Melly…was your cousin…uh…did he _like_ Kurt?"

"Would that be a problem?" Melodie was already shifting away from him, her shoulders stiff, but Sam reached out and pulled her back in with both arms, keeping his eyes locked with hers.

"No! Not at all," he said sincerely. "I don't care about that kinda thing. Kurt's a cool guy, who cares if he wants to kiss dudes? I just…I just can't see it, I guess."

"See what?"

"Kurt and Karofsky. You weren't here for all of it, Mel. Hell, _I_ wasn't here for all of it, I just transferred in this year. But those two _hated_ each other. More than that. I think Kurt was actually scared of Dave. So the two of them dating doesn't really compute."

Melodie studied Sam's face for a long second before she relaxed into his arms.

"Look," she said. "Dave's…he's not what people think. He's actually a really good guy, believe it or not, and that's coming from _me,_ the person who's made it her life's mission to inflict as much torment on him as possible."

"If he's such a great guy, why do you give him such a hard time?"

"Old wounds, Sammy. He pissed me off playing football when we were kids."

"Seriously?"

"What? I hold a grudge."

"I'll remember that," Sam said, looking wary. Melodie shook her head, laughing softly.

"Okay, I give him a hard time because he's family, and because it's always just been the way we work. But after a lifetime of pushing someone's buttons, you can't help but get to know 'em a little bit. I know he can be an asshole, but I also know there's a lot more to him than just that guy. Most of the time that jerk that everyone hates—that guy Kurt was afraid of?—he's a front. Because Dave's afraid too, _all the time_. It gets frustrating to watch."

"So…what did you do about it?" Melodie looked at him sharply, but he shook his head. "Oh no. Don't try to play offended with me. You didn't like that your cousin was misunderstood or whatever. So what did you do about it?"

"Well…one day I snapped at Kurt a little, told him not to assume he knew everything about Davey. And then I may have semi-blackmailed Dave into being my ride for our mall trips, so he and Kurt had to be around each other a lot outside of school…"

"Oh, I'll bet Kurt just _loved_ that."

"Actually…yeah. After they stopped ignoring each other they kinda…I dunno. They would talk to each other a little. Dave would talk to Rachel and Mercedes, too. I think he actually liked hanging out with us, and I think Kurt liked having him there. Kurt picked out this goofy-looking pair of sunglasses for him once, and I swear to you Dave wore them to school _every day_ for like two weeks."

"Seriously?" Sam was trying to justify the Karofsky in his memory with the Dave that wore a gift from Kurt Hummel around like a secret badge of pride, but it was difficult. Then an image came to him: Dave and Kurt spinning slowly on the dance floor at Kurt's parents' wedding.

"Oh," he said. "Okay. So…they were dating."

"Secretly. Dave was scared to come out. I don't think anyone knew but me, and Kurt's parents, and maybe Finn. Davey was hardly ever here over Christmas break, he spent all his time at Kurt's house."

"Wow. Okay. So after the game…"

"Apparently Azimio and Mercedes found out somehow, and they tried to get Kurt and Dave to 'fess up. Azimio cornered Dave in the locker room after that little slip-up at the football game, and Dave panicked. He said some not-so-nice things, and Kurt…well, he overheard."

"Crap."

"Yeah. He was so upset! So was Dave. I've never seen either of them like that before, and I've known Dave forever. He was a mess at home. He wouldn't talk to anyone, and he barely came out of his room. He's not much better now, come to think of it."

"So Kurt won't forgive him?" Melodie sighed.

"I don't know. Kurt won't talk to me about it. He won't talk about it at all. He pretty much pretends none of us ever knew anything, like none of it even happened. He won't even speak to Mercedes unless he has to, and he's cooled way off toward me. He won't come over to my house anymore 'cause Davey's there. Dave won't talk to me either, and I think Aunt Gina knows something because she's basically forbidden me to come near his room lately. I just feel like this is all my fault somehow and I _need_ to find a way to fix it!"

Melodie took a deep breath, recovering from her sudden ramble, and looked up at Sam, eyes unusually sincere through her ridiculous glasses.

"I didn't wanna hurt anybody, Sammy. I thought Kurt and Dave might actually be good for each other, y'know? I mean sure, I was looking forward to the day I could reveal to Dave that I had basically tiptoed him out of the closet, just to see the look on his face, but…Kurt's probably the best friend I have here. I would never intentionally hurt him."

Sam squeezed her just a little bit tighter, talking softly against her hair.

"I know, Melly. I know you wouldn't. You're a nutcase sometimes, but you're not mean."

"Thanks," she said, only half-sarcastically.

"Anytime," he chuckled. They stayed like that for several minutes, Melodie just resting in Sam's arms and feeling the tension melt from her shoulders with the relief of confession and the perfect safety of having someone she could trust and lean on when she really needed it. Eventually though, Sam spoke.

"Wait…so what are you doing _now?"_ Melodie drew back from his arms a little, looking up at him shrewdly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't. Why did Kurt nearly bite your head off just for backing Rachel up on that original song idea?"

"I dunno, Sammy," Melodie said again, voice much too sweet for Sam to believe her. "Maybe…" she stopped, a wicked little smile curling her mouth and a glint coming into her eyes. Sam fought the urge to roll his. Oh, she was going to let him in on the secret. The question is, just how hare-brained of an idea _was_ this?

"Maybe Kurt remembered that my idiot cousin just so happens to be an excellent songwriter."

* * *

Rachel sighed. Normally the prospect of glee rehearsals made her feel excited, ready to throw every ounce of her energy into making everyone else aware of the star she so obviously was. Today, though, she just felt tired.

Regionals were only a few weeks away, and she had yet to be able to write a song that she or anyone else deemed good enough for competition. She just knew that this was the way to win, and she _needed_ that win. She wasn't sure she could take the humiliation of another year coming home empty handed. But nothing she did seemed to be working. _What if I peaked early?_ She thought in typical melodramatic Rachel fashion. _What if I only had so many show-stopping performances and I wasted them all on this paltry little town and its unappreciative, uncultured audience? What if my best days are behind me? What if—_

"Penny for your thoughts, princess?" Rachel jumped, and then glared at the person intruding on her pity party.

"I'm busy Noah. Did you need something?"

Puck ignored her petulant tone. He boosted himself onto the piano, allowing his legs to swing over the side and looking down at Rachel with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

"Look. I dunno if you've noticed, but everyone's kinda freaking out right now. We're all wound too tight. Nobody wants to come home losers two years in a row, and that's what we're all thinking's gonna happen."

"I know, okay?" Rachel burst out, close to tears in less than a second. "I'm trying so hard to smile and keep everyone motivated and optimistic, and I feel like I have to do all the work myself. Have you ever tried to write a song, Noah? It's not easy, you know. Singing someone else's words that just happen to apply to you is easy. It's liberating. Putting yourself down on paper is hard! I'm not even sure I can."

Puck let her rant, then grasped her shoulders gently and looked her in the eyes.

"Hey," he said. "Chill. You're gonna be okay. I have an idea. We all just need somethin' to help us relax and have fun together again." Rachel looked hopefully up at him, eyes huge and watery.

"You mean like…like teambuilding exercises?"

Puck grinned wickedly. "Yeah. Somethin' like that."

* * *

Kurt parked his car in front of Rachel's house, trying not to let his trepidation get the better of him. The last time he'd been to a party here, he'd come with Dave. He wondered if memories of his first boyfriend were always going to have a bitter tinge to them, or if he would eventually be able to overlook the ending and appreciate the good parts. Shrugging off his melancholy, he tried to plaster a smile on and got out, freezing when he noticed a vehicle parallel parked across the street: a red truck.

_Oh no, she absolutely did_ not _…_

Kurt pulled out his phone as he slammed his door, too angry to worry about damaging his baby for a split second. Foot tapping furiously, he fired off a text to Melodie.

_You did NOT use your Neanderthal cousin as a ride to this party. Tell me you didn't._

The reply wasn't long in coming.

_No, I got a ride with Sam. Why?_

Kurt stared at the text. He turned to look at the truck, willing it to be some other red pick-up, but it wasn't. It was all-too-familiar and he knew exactly who it belonged to. Which meant that Dave was in Rachel's house. He decided to text Rachel.

_On my way, who all's there?_

_Everyone on the guest list_ , she replied. Kurt snorted. Sure, that wasn't evasive at all.

_Anyone on that list I should maybe know about before I come in?_

Rachel didn't respond. Kurt grit his teeth. He couldn't believe any of his friends would suddenly decide to be so insensitive. He _needed_ this party; he needed a distraction from the pressure just as much as any of them. He hadn't even brought Blaine with him, even though he knew nobody would mind. So why couldn't he escape, just for one night?

_Why do I always have to deal with everything, face up to everything, be responsible and do what's right?_

Then, a slow smile came across his face as he realized the answer. He…didn't. This party was about letting loose. Kurt Hummel would show them he could let loose with the best of them, Dave or no Dave.

He squared his shoulders and marched up the front steps, letting himself in without bothering to knock and strolling straight to the basement door. The upstairs was relatively quiet, everything in its place. He could already hear the thumping of music drifting up the stairs. Wicked little smile still in place, he let himself relax into the part of someone much more carefree than himself and sauntered down the stairs, removing his coat as he went.

* * *

Dave had no idea why he had agreed to come to a glee club party. He wasn't even sure how he had gotten an invite. He and Rachel had never gotten past the awkward acquaintances phase, and she hadn't spoken to him for almost two months, but suddenly she was sending Finn to let him know she was having another party and that she would be "ever so glad to have him in attendance." _Who actually talks like that?_ He thought.

The moment Kurt came down the stairs, though, Dave understood. He was sitting across the room from Melodie, Sam, and Mercedes, and he saw the expression on both girls' faces as their eyes flickered from Kurt to Dave…self-satisfied at first and then suddenly guilty when they saw that Dave was looking back at them. _Oh, just fucking great,_ he thought. _As if you haven't done enough damage._

He tried not to be mad at Mercedes, or at Azimio—who he was positive had a hand in all this, too. He knew they felt bad for their part in what happened and were just trying to help. And yeah, he was trying to get Kurt back, but he didn't want to push too hard. He didn't want Kurt to get fed up and tell him, once and for all, to go away. He decided to focus all his annoyance on Melodie. Her only motivation in life seemed to be to annoy him and play puppet master, and all the better if she could accomplish one by doing the other.

When Kurt's eyes met his across the room, though, every thought fled his mind but the sudden desire to get up, get out, _run._

Kurt didn't look like himself. Well, he _did,_ but like a version of himself Dave had never seen before, except perhaps in some of his dirtier dreams. His eyes slid over Dave with a barely perceptible quirk of his eyebrows and lips, and _why_ was being so casually disregarded suddenly so fucking sexy?

Kurt peeled his coat off slowly as he walked down the stairs, hips swinging loosely. He looked more relaxed than the boy Dave was used to, more casual. Dave watched him slink over to the drinks without even a second's hesitation, roll up his sleeves, and pour himself something dark red and lethal-looking.

Dave swallowed, hard.

He knew Kurt didn't have much experience with parties or drinking, but the boy in front of him was totally at ease, and it was _unfair_ how hot that was.

_I should have stayed home,_ Dave thought, not for the first or last time that night.

* * *

The problem with throwing a party and inviting all the kids that never get invited to parties is that what starts as your typical high school shenanigan will quickly turn into some strange cross between an after-school special about worst case scenarios and a middle school sleepover gone horribly wrong. Ties get loosened, top buttons get undone, hair gets let down…and before you know it someone gets bored with karaoke and starts screaming for a game of "spin-the-bottle."

Of course, by that point no one is sober enough to understand what a truly terrible idea that will be.

Kurt was having the night of his life. He was with his friends, and they were going to win Regionals together, and he had a wonderful boyfriend who _wasn't_ ashamed of him and _didn't_ call him a fag in locker rooms after football games. He felt pleasantly warm all over, and everything seemed to have soft, glowing edges, like in an old romantic movie. His eyesight couldn't seem to keep up with the motions of his head, but it didn't bother him; if anything it felt like being on a kiddie coaster, and he found himself giggling at the thought and unable to stop, falling over into someone's jeans-clad lap—Puck's maybe. Whoever it was, they giggled right along with him and didn't seem to mind, at least until he started talking.

"It's so nice not to hurt all the time," he mumbled. "You know, Blaine? My perfect boyfriend? He makes the pain go 'way. D'you know I hurt all the time, 'cept when I'm with him? 'Specially when Dave's around. But…Blaine's not here, and Dave _is_ , and I don't feel a thing. Funny."

"Hilarious," said a soft, slightly snarky voice. "Now couldja get off me?" Kurt sat up, grinning sheepishly at Santana, who was both half-smiling and staring at him like he had two heads. Kurt didn't really absorb it, though. He just turned his attention back to the game, where Rachel was just finishing what looked like a very awkward kiss with Quinn. Awkward because when Rachel tried to pull away Quinn grabbed her face, practically crawled on top of the smaller girl, and kept kissing her, eliciting catcalls from every side.

"Woo! Get some!" Yelled Puck, and _Oh, when did he move over there?_ That explained how Kurt had ended up in Santana's lap, at least.

Finally, Quinn released a very pink-cheeked Rachel's face and spun again to see who's turn it would be next.

* * *

Four rounds of spin-the-bottle, going on five. Dave kept thinking they would lose interest, but they didn't. He might have been amused at the glee kids' fascination with a silly kissing game if he weren't simultaneously terrified and hoping his turns would land him on Kurt. Thus far he had watched through pecks on the cheek, pecks on the lips, open-mouthed, and chicken (in which Quinn proved there was _no one_ that could outlast her in a kissing and groping contest) as Kurt locked lips with all the girls but Rachel—he had a feeling both parties were grateful—as well as Puck, Sam, and Artie. The worst had been watching Kurt and Puck play "gay chicken," because Puck was determined that he was _not_ going to lose to Kurt in a kissing game. For his part, Kurt seemed to become a much bolder and more sexual creature after he downed a few questionable cocktails. He'd been inching a hand down Puck's chest, heading inexorably for the waistband of his jeans, when Puck finally wussed out and pulled back.

"Fucking hell, dude," Puck said breathlessly. "I think I might actually be jealous of your boyfriend."

_Boyfriend._ Well, now that was confirmed Dave could just jump right off a cliff, right? That's what he felt like doing at the moment. Kurt just smiled sweetly, looking like nothing so much as a debauched angel, with his face all flushed and his clothes in mild disarray. Dave looked away and only then noticed that his fists were clenched so tightly they hurt. All in all though, he was relieved. Watching Kurt make out with Puck and finding out Kurt was officially dating Blaine: if he could make it through _that,_ he could make it through anything. There was only one more round to go, and sure, it was the worst, but at least he wouldn't have to _see_ what Kurt was doing with everyone in the room but him.

It was Santana who laid out the rules.

"Okay, _escuchame_. Seven minutes in heaven: in the closet for seven minutes, activity is up to your discretion, and _no one tells_. Oh, and if you wanna back out, now's the time. Once the bottle spins, you're committed _. Comprendais? Bueno_. Kurt, guess you're starting off."

Kurt grinned lazily, reaching for the green glass bottle and giving it a quick twist. He hadn't been drinking anything but diet Coke since round two or three, and he was surprised at how fast the alcohol seemed to be settling in his system. His vision was clear, everything had sharp edges again…but the pain hadn't come back yet, and for that he was definitely grateful. He was, against all probability, still having a really great night.

The bottle whirled around and around, and Dave suppressed a grim smile at a slightly vindictive thought: how awkward would it be if the bottle were to land on Finn and Kurt had to spend "seven minutes in heaven" with his own brother?

But the bottle didn't land on Finn.

_Oh for the sake of sweet Jesus loving mother of_ fuck _…_

Suddenly, all eyes were on Dave.


	32. Seven Minutes in Heaven

Dave expected Kurt to snark, or run screaming from the room, or burst into tears, maybe. What he did not expect was for Kurt to giggle softly and reach a hand across the circle towards him.

"Well come on, David," he said, voice soft but as far from innocent as Dave had ever heard it, "Time to show me how the real men do it."

The rest of the room looked on in silence, some of the faces confused, others apprehensive. Melodie looked like Christmas had just come around again. Mercedes was fighting a smile with all her might. Finn looked worried.

Dave didn't notice any of that, though. It was like his vision had narrowed to the boy across from him and the pale hand reaching in his direction. He wasn't sure what to do.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Kurt said finally, impatience—and just the tiniest bit of hurt—seeping through his relaxation. He closed the distance between them and dragged Dave to his feet, pulling him toward the closet door at the back of the room. A few people watched with varying levels of concern and excitement on their faces, but the rest seemed to find nothing unusual about Dave being bossed around by Kurt all of a sudden. Then they were through the door.

The rest of the glee club just looked at each other, before Santana suddenly broke them out of their stupor.

"Well! I'm sure that'll be _very_ exciting. Who's up for a quick round of chicken while we wait?"

* * *

Kurt closed the closet door behind them, and Dave was being tugged into a sitting position across from Kurt in the tight little space.

"So, here we are," Kurt said, his voice surprisingly clear; hadn't he been drunker than this earlier? "Back in the closet. We must stop meeting this way, David." He giggled a little at his own joke, and Dave didn't know whether to smile or wince at the implications.

"I could be wrong, but the last time we were in a closet was totally _your_ idea," he said softly. Kurt opened his mouth to make a bitchy retort, but then stopped. He was sitting on his knees, and he leaned up and toward Dave a little, cocking his head to one side and considering the boy across from him.

"You're right," he said finally. Dave was surprised; he hadn't expected Kurt to actually _admit_ to it. His insides froze at the boy's next words.

"So are you going to kiss me, or not?"

"Wh...what?" Kurt sighed, sounding exasperated.

"We're in a dark closet due to a game of 'seven minutes in heaven', and we probably only have about six of those minutes left. Kiss me already, you oaf."

Dave shook his head emphatically. When he spoke, he kept his voice as quiet as possible, but he couldn't keep the anger and hurt entirely out of it.

"No way. No _freaking_ way, Kurt. You can't do that. You can't keep blowing me off when I try to talk to you just to go on dates with your _boyfriend_ Blaine, and then decide to make out with me in a closet. It's not fair to me, dammit. And not that I care, but it's not fair to him either."

"Fair? Didn't your mother ever tell you fairness is a myth?" Kurt snapped. He leaned forward, breath ghosting over Dave's face as he talked, his voice low and soft and sounding more and more furious with every word.

"What if I don't care about being fair right now? I just wanted to relax and be a teenager for once tonight, instead of being "the gay kid." But then _you_ had to show up and remind me of _everything_ I don't want to think about. Because _I_ can never get what I want, can I? I can't even be mad about it. _I_ have to smile and keep a stiff upper lip, and be grateful that my life isn't worse. I have to be the goddamn doe-eyed martyr. Well maybe I'm sick of it."

He slid closer to Dave, who tried to back up but couldn't; he was already sitting with his back to the wall of the closet. He didn't know what to do. He felt like he was being nailed to the floor by every one of Kurt's words. Pain and guilt were fighting for his attention, and neither could seem to get the upper hand. And Kurt wasn't finished.

"Maybe I would rather just get what I want for a change, without always having to be _fair_ and thoughtful and strong and mature, and don't forget _extra careful_ so I avoid setting off a gay panic and getting the stuffing beaten out of me by some meat-headed football player with a bad case of internalized homophobia. Tell me, Dave, why do _I_ have to be so good? Everyone else does whatever they want to one another, and they don't give a damn who gets hurt."

Dave was surprised he had a response for Kurt at all, but the answer came to his lips automatically.

"You...you're _better_ than that, Kurt."

"Oh? Am I?" Without waiting for an answer, Kurt launched himself forward into Dave's lap and brought their lips together, wrapping both arms around his neck to hold him in the kiss. Not that he had to. After all, Dave was only human. He could resist closing the distance between them himself because he was never, ever going to just assume Kurt wanted him again. But with the other boy forcing frantic, hungry kisses against his lips? He was helpless. There was only one appropriate response: kiss him back.

Dave wrapped his arms around Kurt, pressing his hands into the small of Kurt's back and bending his body inward, closer, until they were touching from hips to collarbones. He let his eyes flutter shut as he worked his lips over Kurt's, relishing the taste and the feel and the gorgeous smell of him, blocking out as best he could the screaming in his mind that this was an absolutely awful idea, and that it was going to hurt later when his hands were empty and his mouth was unoccupied again. When Kurt left the party and went home and probably called his boyfriend...

He pulled back with a gasp, only to suppress a groan as Kurt's mouth moved down his jaw and over his neck, alternating kisses and bites, making all of Dave's nerves catch fire and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. This Kurt was so foreign to him; they'd made out before, but Kurt had never been quite so confident or aggressive, and Dave wasn't sure how to handle it, how to convince his brain to make his mouth open up and tell Kurt they had to stop.

As for Kurt, he was exultant; Dave's mouth on his brought an acute sense of relief. It was like he'd been holding his breath and only now let go, let the poison out and the fresh oxygen flow in. His head was spinning with it. He felt invincible.

Dave's defenses were melted; they were pooling around his feet. The ceaseless loop of "stop it stop it this is _wrong_ bad idea tell him to stop _stop_ _it_ " in his head was trailing off, drowned out by the sound of his own labored breathing and the buzzing that rippled across his skin wherever Kurt's lips touched it.

There was a sharp knock on the door, and abruptly Dave's arms were empty. He opened his eyes, blinked, and could just make out a dark form huddled against the other side of the closet, half-disappearing into the coats.

"Time's up, _hijos!_ Give someone else a turn."

Dave could hear Kurt trying to get hold of his breathing. He didn't trust his voice to answer Santana, so he focused his efforts on getting his own body under control, straightening his shirt and running a hand over his hair to try and flatten it. He fervently hoped Kurt hadn't left any marks on his neck.

After a few seconds of tense silence, Kurt's voice came to him from across the tiny space, sounding much more like the Kurt he knew than it had just moments ago: "Ready?"

"Yeah," Dave said, and found that he _did_ still have a voice after all.

They stepped out of the closet, blinking a little at the light. Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying much attention to them; the rest of the glee club was in various states of drunken silliness, and they had continued the game of spin-the-bottle without them. Dave snuck a look at Kurt, and then couldn't look away.

His face was flushed all the way down to his collar, and his lips were red and slightly swollen. He had tried to fix his hair, but without much success. His eyes were far too bright, and although Dave knew he was trying to keep his cool, Kurt looked like the cat that ate the canary if anyone ever did. It would only take one person being too sober and paying the tiniest bit of attention to know that Dave and Kurt had _not_ spent seven minutes sitting across from one another in awkward silence. Dave wondered if he looked as obvious as Kurt.

Just as he was about to force himself to turn away, Kurt's eyes slid over and locked onto his. Dave's breath caught in his chest; he expected anger again, indifference, _something_ that was familiar from the last several weeks, but Kurt was _grinning_. That same lazy, sexy smile spread slowly across his face; it was the smile of someone looking at something delicious they wanted to devour. Dave swallowed hard and forced himself to turn away, but before he could rejoin the group and make either his or Kurt's presence really noticed, he felt a warm, long-fingered hand slip into his.

"They'll all be too drunk to even notice we're gone. Come with me?"

Dave didn't look at Kurt. He couldn't. He didn't want to stare into his eyes and try to magic some perfect emotion into them. He didn't want to search Kurt's face for the answers to the million questions swirling through his head. He shut down that reasonable, practical, moral voice that kept screeching at him and focused on the warmth and weight of Kurt's hand in his. He didn't want to be responsible. He just wanted Kurt, and right now Kurt seemed to want him back. _I'll take it._

"Okay," he whispered, allowing Kurt to drag him back upstairs, through Rachel's house, and out the front door.

* * *

Kurt wasn't sure what he was doing. His head was unacceptably clear for someone who had been drinking non-stop for the better part of the night. But those moments in the closet had broken something. He wasn't just talking out of his ass or trying to hurt Dave; he really was tired of always doing the right thing and never getting any reward for it but pain. Right now, he wanted Dave, and he knew Dave wanted him. What was stopping them both from getting what they wanted? That was the only thought in his mind as he hauled the other boy to his car and gave him a gentle shove toward the passenger side door.

Dave didn't want to ask questions, but about five minutes out from Rachel's house one finally presented itself that seemed safe enough, so he voiced it.

"Where are we going?"

Kurt glanced languidly over at him, his handling of the Navigator surprisingly smooth. Dave suddenly wondered how much Kurt actually had to drink. "My house," he said simply.

He tried to stop himself. Really, he did.

"Won't your dad want to know why you're bringing _me_ home instead of Blaine?" He waited for Kurt to close down and withdraw, but Kurt answered him simply and matter-of-factly.

"My dad's out with Carol. It's date night. We'll have the house to ourselves for hours."

Dave shut his mouth. Well now he had a _lot_ more questions. He didn't want to ask them in the car and derail wherever this was going, though. Or, you know...end up stranded on the side of the road if he pissed Kurt off.

When they got to Kurt's house, however, he didn't get a chance to ask anything else.

As soon as the front door closed, Kurt was on him. Hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him close, breath puffing hot over his face just before soft lips claimed his and moved insistently, demanding something from Dave that he wasn't sure he had but was all too happy to give if he did. He kissed Kurt back enthusiastically, hands snaking under his coat to settle heavily against the smaller boy's waist and pressing him back against the door of the coat closet. He reveled in it: the feel of Kurt's body under his hands again, the warmth of him seeping into the skin of Dave's palms through the thin material of his shirt. He breathed in deep, letting his senses fill with the smell of Kurt's shampoo, cologne, hairspray. The honey-flavored lip balm he always wore was on Dave's mouth now, too. Kurt tasted like heaven, like liquor and honey, and Dave couldn't get enough.

When they finally had to break apart for air, Kurt started dragging Dave toward the stairs to the basement by the collar of his shirt. Dave went willingly, only balking when Kurt closed and locked his bedroom door and started moving them toward the bed with obvious intention.

"Kurt...wait."

"No," Kurt said, simply and without rancor. He pulled on Dave's collar again, but this time Dave stood his ground.

"No, really," he said, ignoring the new voice in his head that was screaming _shut up shut up shut up! Just do what he wants._ "I need to know what we're doing."

"Well," Kurt said, a little huffily, "I could spell it all out for you, but I was hoping you would just go with a practical demonstration."

Dave didn't know what to say to that, and Kurt seemed at last to take pity on him. He released Dave's poor, abused collar and wound his arms around his neck, leaning against him and looking up at him with the sweetest expression Dave had ever seen. He felt Kurt's hands curl against the nape of his neck, rubbing softly back and forth. It was almost tender. It made him think of those two beautiful, perfect weeks right after Christmas.

"You're here," Kurt said softly. "I'm here, and we're alone. There's no one to watch or judge or get in the way, or ask us what we're doing or whether we're crazy..." he trailed off, and Dave squeezed his waist gently, giving Kurt a sad smile that said he understood. Kurt returned the smile, but seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say next, stuttering over the first few syllables.

"I...I want you. Can I have you, David? Please?"

Dave took a breath. _Oh_. He didn't know how to answer that. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, like _Hell no_ , and _Hell yes,_ and _What about Blaine?_ and _What happens when you're done with me?_ Instead, he just nestled his face into the crook of Kurt's neck, brushing his lips against the skin there and smiling as he felt Kurt shiver from the touch.

"You already have me, Fancy," he whispered. "I'm yours."

Kurt dragged his head up for another heady, desperate kiss.

* * *

Your first time can be a lot of things. It can be beautiful. It can be terrifying. It can make you want to hang your head in shame and crawl under your bed to hide, or it can fill you up with a sense of joy and satisfaction so strong it almost hurts. Dave's was none of these things.

He felt...quiet. Peaceful. He remembered it the way he experienced it: as a series of hard kisses that dissolved into bodies held close, and warm, soft touches bathed in equal parts light and shadow. He remembered the way Kurt's eyelashes fluttered over his cheeks as his eyes closed, the way his mouth opened in a soft gasp when Dave touched him for the first time. He remembered expanses of pale skin under his lips, and a hot, hard, unfamiliar weight in his hand. He remembered not knowing exactly what to do but wanting to make Kurt happy, wanting to make Kurt sigh his name again, and again.

They memorized each other: the contrasts of soft and hard, hair and nails and calloused fingertips, the mild, salty flavor of perspiring skin and the shudder of breath held too long and let out in the shapes of each other's names. They clung to one another afterward, Kurt's face buried in Dave's chest, arms wrapped around him and legs tangled, bodies bound together by secrets, heartbreak, broken love, and now something else, something neither of them had ever shared with anyone else. Dave's mind was blessedly silent as he held Kurt, any question or worry he might have about tomorrow staved off when Kurt pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder and breathed one half-asleep word across his skin:

_"David."_


	33. Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual situations and blackmail.

Kurt blinked himself awake, feeling strangely warm and light. He fought down a half-second's panic when he realized there was a body pressed against his, and then rolled over to see...Dave.

The other boy was lying on his side, body curled in slightly towards Kurt, one hand resting under his face and his other arm thrown casually over Kurt's shoulder, warm against his bare skin. The sheets had slipped until they were only covered from the waist down, but Kurt found that he wasn't cold with Dave so close by. He reached a tentative hand out to touch Dave's exposed chest, studying the contrast in their skin tones and trying to memorize the way that thin layer of soft, curling brown hair felt under his palm.

He remembered touching that chest in a much different context, remembered his fingers curling against it and his fingernails digging into the skin there. He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of David all over him, all over his bed, and smiling at the memory.

Kurt had no illusions about this situation. He knew his blood-alcohol level hadn't even been approaching anything that would mitigate what they had done. Not that he thought _any_ amount of alcohol would make it okay. Still, as he looked at Dave's face, relaxed in sleep, and remembered the way those lips had been pressed over every inch of his body, whispering love and desire warm against his skin, he couldn't find it in himself to regret.

He curled himself in closer to Dave, smiling against his bare chest when he felt Dave's arms automatically tighten around him. It was still dark outside; he would let Dave sleep a little longer.

* * *

Dave woke up long before he opened his eyes. He felt Kurt, still solid and warm in his arms. He was surprised; he had fully expected Kurt to ask him to leave...after. He thought back over the events of last night—earlier that morning?—and felt his face grow warm. Kurt had been so _eager_. Demanding, even. He seemed to crave to touch and be touched, was more than willing to let Dave take his time exploring every pale, perfect inch of his body. Dave though of the places his hands had been. He thought of _Kurt's_ hands...and immediately tried to think of something else, because he did _not_ need to be kicked out of bed with a hard-on.

He felt Kurt shift in his arms, pressing in just all the wrong ( _right_ ) places, and _oh._ Dave opened his eyes.

Bright blue-green stared up into hazel. Dave wracked his brain for something to say, but before he could open his mouth Kurt's lips were pressed against his in a sweet, chaste kiss. It only lasted a second, and when Kurt pulled back his mouth was quirked up in one corner in a small half-smile.

"Good morning," he said simply.

"Kurt—" was all Dave could reply before those lips were on his again. His scattered thoughts dissolved completely. It really wasn't fair, how Kurt could scramble his brains and shut him up so easily. But then, Kurt had made perfectly clear just what he thought of the concept of things being fair.

When they finally broke apart, Dave was practically sick with desire, and he _knew_ Kurt could feel him. He searched Kurt's face in apprehension, trying to drag his thoughts together and find a way to apologize before this beautiful dream he was living could crumble to nothing.

Kurt could see the fear in his face, and to be honest? He really just wanted it to _disappear_ already.

"Dave," he said, somehow managing to sound affectionate and exasperated at once, "I'm not going to freak out and start screaming. I'm not going to ask you to leave. I'm not going to tell you this was a mistake."

Kurt had been awake for _hours,_ and that had given him plenty of time to think, lying there in Dave's arms. He remembered every minute of the night before, not in vague impressions but in sharp, exquisite details and a heady combination of emotions. As far back as he could remember thinking about such things, Kurt had been terrified by the thought of someday taking that step with someone. But when the time came it wasn't a step at all; it was an endless and effortless progression from one thing he never knew he could want so much to the next.

He'd always thought his first time would be awkward. He expected to feel exposed and self-conscious, to lay stiff as a board while someone kind and more experienced coaxed him along and showed him what to do. He had never imagined that he would feel powerful, in control. He never thought he would be the one to initiate, to touch and explore, to want things and ask for them. But he had been. Kurt remembered the surprise on Dave's face, and the nervousness that dissolved into pure want as their kisses and shy touches carried them into lying naked together, legs twined and hands and eyes roaming, lips pressing and lighting nerves on fire until they were clinging to one another and Kurt reached down to touch Dave at the same time as Dave finally— _finally_ —reached for him as well.

He was simply carried away by the heated eyes and hard planes of the boy lying there with him, by the dark curl of pleasure Kurt felt as Dave's hand, bigger and rougher than his own, moved around him slow and tentative at first, then faster and harder, seemingly spurred on by every twitch and sigh Kurt made. He remembered thinking, through a sated haze as he drifted into sleep, _What was I ever so afraid of?_

He couldn't even begin to guess what it meant, that he was unwilling to give Dave his heart again but all too eager to trust him with his body. His heart could stay safe with Blaine, but he _wanted_ this. He wanted the way he felt in Dave's arms. He wanted to feel powerful and desirable and like there was someone in the world who couldn't resist him.

Right now, though, that someone was just staring at him. Dave didn't know what to say, how to react. Kurt let him struggle for a few moments before he got bored. He sighed; Dave's name.

"David. Come here." He cupped Dave's face and stared into his eyes.

"I don't regret it at all," he said softy, putting every ounce of emotion he could into the words. Then, a thought occurred to him that made his heart stutter—no, that made his stomach clench. "Do...do you?"

He shook his head so emphatically that Kurt almost laughed.

Dave felt like an idiot, still unable to formulate a response. In lieu of the words that wouldn't come, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to Kurt's palm. Kurt smiled and curled into Dave's body, snaking a hand down between them with a glint in his eyes. Dave took in a sharp breath when he felt Kurt's fingers wrap around him.

"Join me for a shower?" Kurt asked, expression caught somewhere between that mischievous glint and an inexplicable shyness, as if he was taken aback by his own boldness.

Dave smiled.

* * *

He asked himself why— _why_ —in the name of _God_ why—his voice decided to return in the shower.

"Kurt...what are we doing?"

Five words, and there it was: the reaction he'd been expecting. The one that made a little bit of sense. Kurt pulled away from where he'd leaned back against Dave's chest. Dave made to pull him back, but he resisted, and Dave didn't push. For a moment they just stood there, water beating down on them as Kurt maintained his distance. Then he turned around, and what Dave saw made him want to cut out his own tongue.

His whole demeanor had changed; the confident posture was gone, replaced by a clutching of his arms about his chest and an inward curl of his shoulders, as if he was trying to hide himself. The gleam in his eyes was gone, too. He looked small and self-conscious, ill-at-ease in his own skin. When he spoke, his voice wavered.

"I...I told you, Dave. Last night, I told you. I'm sick of always doing all the right things. You're not the right thing, but I...I _wanted_ you."

Kurt's words trickled into Dave's brain, and with them some of what Kurt was actually saying. He tried not to put it together, but it happened anyway.

"We're not getting back together, are we. You don't…this wasn't you forgiving me."

Kurt didn't meet his eyes.

"No."

Dave just looked at Kurt for a minute. He didn't have to think through all the reasons this was a very wrong, very bad idea. They were already there in his head, glowing neon-bright and huge in his mind's eye. But he could also see Kurt, hair plastered to his forehead and everything about him screaming all the misery and regret he'd denied only a few minutes before. Dave made his decision, and told himself that if it made Kurt happy, it must be the right one.

"C'mere," he said softly. Kurt looked up at him, surprised and cautious. He stepped closer, and Dave ran a steady hand over his shoulder and down his back, pulling him close and mouthing down the line of his jaw. Kurt leaned into his touch reflexively, hands coming up to flutter uncertainly before resting lightly against his shoulders.

"David—" he started, but Dave shut him up with a quick kiss to his lips.

"Shh. I told you last night you could have me. You didn't promise me the same thing. I know that."

"But I—" another kiss stopped him, and he tried to glare but failed spectacularly when Dave left his lips only to trail lightly up to nibble at the shell of his ear.

"I get it," Dave whispered. "Just...have me. How…however much you want of me. Have me."

Kurt wanted to cry. He felt his eyes stinging and his throat closing up. But when he tried to let out a sob, the sound was swallowed up in another kiss, and another, and when he leaned into Dave's arms, seeking warmth and the blessed forgetfulness of a few moments of pleasure, the water beating down from the showerhead made it easy to pretend he wasn't crying. Before long, the pain was gone.

* * *

"Dude, what gives? You've been in there all day. Are you dead?"

Kurt sat up, looking at Dave with wide, panicked eyes. Dave pressed a finger to his lips and slid out of bed, grabbing his clothes from the floor and heading to Kurt's walk-in closet.

"Kurt? Why's the door locked?"

"Gimme a _minute,_ Finn, for goodness' sake," Kurt snapped in the direction of the stairs, frantically trying to get his legs into a pair of pajama pants. Finally, he managed, and then he ran up the stairs to pull open the door.

_"What?"_

"Agh! Dude! Where's your shirt?"

"What?" Kurt looked down. "Oh for the love of...I'm a _guy,_ Finn. Relax. Being gay does not entitle me to an honorary pair of boobs. Now, I _was_ trying to have a relaxing Saturday and sleep off a slight hangover, so whatever you wanted had better be _important_ and _quick."_

Suddenly, Finn looked a little uncomfortable.

"So there's not…I mean is…is there somebody down there with you?" He asked, looking like he wanted to run away before Kurt could give him the answer.

" _What?"_

"Is..." He now looked well more than a _little_ uncomfortable. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw, and his voice when he spoke was determined. "Is Karofsky down there?"

Kurt thanked everything in the universe for his acting skills.

"Is...what?" He asked again, looking affronted and utterly bewildered. Finn, however, remained mule-faced.

"Look, I _know_ he left with you last night. His truck's still at Rachel's, and no one remembers seeing you guys after spin-the-bottle. And Melodie just called. She said her aunt's freaking out 'cause Dave never came home last night."

Kurt actually _felt_ his face go a shade paler. He thought fast, and hoped Finn wouldn't notice.

"What? But that's...I gave him a ride to Azimio's house." He had no idea where the lie came from, but he grasped it like a lifeline. "He didn't want his mom to know he was drinking. He says she can smell alcohol a mile away. Literally." Finn raised a skeptical eyebrow and didn't say anything, but Kurt was done. He stepped back and started to pull the door shut behind him.

"Guess he's sleeping it off and forgot to call home. I'd better call and let him know what's going on before his poor mother has a heart attack." _Better let Azimio know that Dave will be heading to his house very shortly._

Finn stopped him.

"So, wait," he said, still looking skeptical. "You guys're friends again?"

"Yes," Kurt said. "We...we talked things over in the car. I'm still...upset with him. But we're friends, for now."

"Okay, dude," Finn said. "If you say so. I'll go tell Melodie what's up."

"Thanks, Finn," Kurt said, relief making him sound oh-so-very sincere.

As soon as his brother's back was turned, though, he was locking his door again and racing down the stairs. He opened the closet door and practically threw himself at Dave, kissing his face all over and laughing, giddy with the rush of what a close call that had been.

"Your mom," kiss "thinks you're missing" kiss "so you should probably call her," kiss "and let her know you're alive."

Dave looked surprised, then paled at the news about his mother.

"Crap," he said. "She's gonna kill me." Kurt pulled back with a final kiss to his nose.

"No she won't," he said. "Because first, you're going to call Azimio and inform him that I dropped you off at his house last night, and you were so tired you fell asleep before you remembered to call your mother to let her know. _Then_ you can call your mother. _Then_ we can figure out how to get you out of this house without anyone seeing you."

Dave stared down at Kurt. _God, I love you,_ he thought.

"You are diabolical," he said. "And I bow down to the king of scams."

"Why thank you," Kurt said, grinning.

* * *

Kurt was trying so hard to be good. He really was. But every time he saw Dave in the hall he felt a little thrill at the thought of Friday night…and Saturday morning. It was so good, on so many levels. Just the thought of everyone's faces if they knew that sweet little Kurt Hummel had taken a boy—a _football player_ —home after a party and slept with him…it made Kurt blush and giggle so much that his friends were starting to stare worriedly at him.

Dave's answering bashful grin was a whole bundle of complicated emotions in itself. Kurt _knew_ he should feel guilty—he had, after all, cheated on Blaine, and wasn't he putting himself and David right back in a situation that was bound to cause problems?—but whenever he saw Dave's face he felt a rush of want and excitement that nearly made him giddy, and washed away any other concerns.

"Kurt, is everything okay?" Rachel asked worriedly, after Kurt snorted into his diet Coke for the third time that lunch period. Kurt just grinned at her, secretive and not at all reassuring, and answered a little bit hoarsely.

"Fabulous, Rachel. Everything is fabulous." He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he failed to notice the wide-eyed looks of concern his friends were trading right in front of him.

He managed to make it halfway through his third class before he asked for a hall pass—claiming he needed the nurse—and sent Dave a hasty text message.

_Meet me in the auditorium?_

He didn't wait for a response; he knew Dave would meet him.

* * *

Dave's week had been exceedingly strange.

First, he and Kurt were apparently going to continue whatever they had started in his room on Friday night, if the text he got halfway through Calculus and the subsequent half hour they spent making out backstage in the auditorium on Monday _and_ Tuesday were any indication. They didn't talk much, despite the fact that Dave's tongue was practically blistering with unanswered questions. He kept quiet, though—not hard when _Kurt's_ tongue was in his mouth almost from the moment he arrived—and tried to just lose himself in the fact that he was allowed to be close to Kurt like this again, even if he didn't understand it or know how long it was going to last.

It was an extremely uncomfortable sort of bliss.

Then, as if he didn't have enough on his mind, he got cornered twice in one day by what had to be the two most conniving, unscrupulous women ever to walk the halls of McKinley High.

Santana Lopez grabbed him right before weight training on Wednesday.

"Hang back a minute, twink-bait," she said smoothly, latching onto his elbow and steering him into an empty classroom. He went willingly, if only because her choice of nickname made his insides freeze to the point that he didn't really know what else to do.

"What did you call me?"

"You heard me," she said, smiling sweetly. His stomach clenched. He hadn't had many run-ins with Santana, but he knew enough to know that he was in some seriously deep shit.

"So," she said, voice saccharine and face still fixed in that dangerous smile. "You and Kurt, huh? I have to say, I wouldn't have pegged you as Kurt's first choice. You seem a little sweaty and stupid for his taste, but then he did used to crush on Finn _and_ Sam, so maybe he's into that."

"I don't—"

"Save it, closet monster. I know your secret, understand? And I promise you, I will tell every person I see from the time I wake up until the time I go to sleep tomorrow unless you do _exactly_ what I say."

Dave swallowed, hard. Again, he knew just enough about Santana to know she would absolutely do what she threatened. He was doing so much better, though. His mom and his best friend knew, and he was going to tell his dad soon. He was beginning to think that if his dad took it okay he might be ready to come out all together before too long, and then maybe…maybe Kurt would reconsider giving him a second chance. A _real_ second chance.

He looked at Santana, feeling a combination of helplessness and fury. There was no way he was going to let her ruin this for him. He was trying so hard, and he had so much to lose if it all went wrong.

"What do you want?" He asked harshly.

Santana's smile widened.

* * *

When Melodie started in on him in the truck, Dave was really in no mood.

"So Davey," she said, sounding suspiciously sweet. " I was wondering—"

"Keep wondering." He glared straight ahead, not really even seeing the road in front of him, just functioning on autopilot and running the conversation—if you could call it that—with Santana over and over in his mind.

"Jeez," she said, sounding almost hurt, "what crawled up your ass and died?"

Dave knew he really shouldn't answer that, but he opened his mouth to sigh and it all came out.

"Oh, I dunno," he said angrily. "How about the fact that my first crush turned into my first boyfriend, and I had to go and ruin it by being a dumbshit coward? Or how about the fact that the only friends I had that I thought really liked me for _me_ pretty much ditched me after that, because they were really  _his_ friends, not mine? Maybe I'm a _tiny_ bit worried by the prospect of how my dad and everyone else will react when they finally find out I'm gay. It's _just possible_ that the sudden addition in my life of my bitchy, melodramatic, scheming-evil devil's spawn cousin from the mouth of hell doesn't help matters either, because she—along with my best friend and his new main squeeze—have decided that my fucked up personal life is a hilarious fucking practical _joke._ "

Dave was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. Melodie stared at him, looking stunned and worried and maybe just a little guilty.

"Davey…" she started.

"Don't. I don't want to hear it. Whatever it is, I promise you I _do not_ need to hear it right now."

"I…okay," she said softly.

_Great_ , she thought. _What on earth happened this weekend?_ It was the only thing she could think of that would have David this upset. She decided to give Kurt a call when she got home.

After calming down a little, Dave glanced at Melodie out of the corner of his eye and was disturbed to see her looking deep in thought. Whatever she had been about to say, he'd clearly only delayed the inevitable. He supposed derailing her insanity with a single outburst was too much to hope for.

_Guess I'll find out what she wants sooner or later,_ he thought glumly.

* * *

Kurt was having a fantastic week. He hadn't felt this lighthearted in quite a while. The weight of pain he'd been dragging around with him for weeks seemed to have dissolved in the shower on Saturday morning. He was cheerful, and he actually meant it. He was getting through his homework with a clear head. He might even get this reading assignment done in under an hour.

Leave it to Finn to kill the mood.

"You lied to me," he burst out in the middle of their Wednesday night homework session. Kurt looked up, confused, his mind still on _The Once and Future King_.

"What?"

"About Dave," Finn said. "You told me you guys were friends."

"We are, Finn. I don't—"

"Bullshit. I saw you guys at school. You've been looking at each other like you wanted to tear each other's clothes off all week. And I haven't seen either of you this happy since before Valentine's Day. What _really_ happened on Friday?"

"If the preposterous notion that David and I want to disrobe one another and the fact that we're both happy instead of miserable is all you've got to go on, I'd advise you to drop the case. As for Friday, I already told you what happened and frankly, I'm insulted that you don't believe me," Kurt said, hoping his flushing face would be taken as indignation rather than embarrassment at being caught out. He tried to meet Finn's eyes squarely. "Dave and I are friends. That's all you or anyone else needs to know."

"Fine," Finn said angrily. "Whatever, dude. You want to sneak around and lie to everybody, fine. It's none of _my_ business. Just remember there's one person here that hasn't done anything wrong, and he might need to know what's up with you and Dave."

"Who—"

" _Blaine,"_ Finn said emphatically, looking at Kurt like he had no idea who he was seeing. "Your boyfriend, remember him? Just make sure you don't walk all over him while you and Dave are doing this messed up dance around each other, okay?"

Kurt had no idea what to say to that.

* * *

**Author's Note: I kind of want to hide because I'm sure some of you aren't happy with Kurt at the moment. Just don't be too hard on him, okay? The situation he's in is not an easy one, however happy he seems right now.  
  
Also, a cookie to anyone who catches a little movie reference I threw in there.**

**\- The Raisin Girl**


	34. At Arm's Length

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be some sexual stuff and a very clearly unhealthy relationship.

The latter days of Dave's junior year of high school were passing in a blur of heart-pounding secrecy and the kind of all-consuming, thought-paralyzing infatuation every teenager who has fallen in love experiences. It was something they missed the first time around, somehow, skipped right over…and yet he still felt it wasn't quite what it could have been.

There was always a shadow between them, keeping them from being totally together even when they were wrapped around each other in the dark of Kurt's room. Dave wasn't sure if the shadow was his, or Kurt's…or even Blaine's. He felt a pang whenever he thought of the other boy, someone he didn't really like but also didn't really know—someone who probably didn't deserve what was going on behind his back. Those moments of guilt didn't keep him from becoming an expert at sneaking in and out of Kurt's basement.

He felt strange about stepping around the lives of people he used to sit among comfortably. Kurt's house used to be one of the few places on earth he could be himself and feel totally safe. He never felt safe anymore, not anywhere…but at least he got Kurt out of all of it. Sure, he got only Kurt's kisses and never his smiles, only Kurt's touches, and never his hugs…all of Kurt's body but none of Kurt's time. Dave was living life on the "take what you can get" plan at the moment, thank you very much, and he would defy anyone in his situation—anyone who could look at Kurt and see what he saw, who knew what it was like to love him and be loved back—to tell him they would honestly do something different.

It occurred to him, on more than one occasion, that his life was far too dramatic for that of a high schooler. Weren't high school relationships meant to be temporary? It wasn't as if any of this was life and death.

It still felt like it.

* * *

Kurt's life had fallen into a frenetic routine that left him feeling slightly guilty but also constantly elated. He had found the perfect excuse, in the form of Melodie's meddling, to spend time with Dave without having to explain to Blaine, or Finn, or anyone else why he was so often alone with his ex-boyfriend. More importantly, he didn't have to make up reasons to feed himself for why he couldn't seem to go more than a day without dragging Dave into some dark corner and losing himself in the other boy's kisses and touches, his adoration.

Apparently, Melodie had convinced Rachel that Dave was the perfect person to help them write a song that would win Regionals. Kurt was assigned to help Dave with the songwriting process, since Dave flat refused—according to Melodie—to try working one-on-one with someone as controlling as Rachel.

"Really, Dave?" Kurt teased him when they were alone, during their first "song-writing" session. "You of all people know how  _controlling_ I can be."

"Yeah, but when it's you, it's sexy," Dave shot back. Needless to say, no songwriting happened that afternoon. Or the next.

Kurt was dividing his time between school, glee rehearsals, and Dave. He hadn't been spending a lot of time with Blaine lately. Every time he saw him, there was a fresh stab of undiluted guilt. Kurt tried to minimize the effects of this by finding excuses—totally legitimate excuses—not to see him, but that just seemed to make the guilt when they did finally get together worse. It was like it saved itself up and waited for the right moment to burst out and make him blush and avoid Blaine's eyes.

Occasionally he would see something in Blaine's eyes—worry, hurt, disappointment?—but his boyfriend never said anything, so Kurt pretended that everything on that front was all right, and focused all his energy on being a student, a singer, and a part-time illicit lover. He was ashamed of the thrill that last part gave him, but not ashamed enough to stop or pretend the thrill wasn't there.

* * *

"Just imagine," Kurt whispered, breath hot against Dave's ear and hand tight around him, gliding up and down in a slow rhythm that seemed calculated to drive Dave insane with need. "Just imagine what would happen if we got caught like this. Anyone could walk in here at any moment, and there'd be nowhere for us to hide. What would you do, then, Dave?"

Dave had no answer, no coherent thoughts able to drag themselves up from under the jumble of guilt, fear and arousal Kurt's words inspired. Kurt bit down on his earlobe lightly and pressed a wet kiss to the corner of his jaw just below, never altering his slow, torturous rhythm as his warm breath ghosted over the tender skin, raising tiny hairs on the back of Dave's neck. Arousal won out. Dave closed his eyes and pressed his face into Kurt's shoulder as he came, silently. He was getting good at being silent.

* * *

The only constant dark spot on Kurt's days were the glares Finn kept shooting him—over the dinner table, across the lunch tables in the cafeteria, in the choir room. While Melodie seemed more than content to expend all her energy trying to break up Kurt's relationship with Blaine, Finn seemed to be growing more and more attached to it, and his scowl only deepened each time Kurt spent the afternoon songwriting with Dave. He was the only person who seemed unconvinced by Kurt's insistence that he was keeping Dave at arm's length.

Much more annoying than Finn's suspicion was his new habit of popping into Kurt's room unannounced to check on them whenever Dave came over. It wasn't like they couldn't hear him thundering across the house in plenty of time to rearrange themselves; it was just that there were a lot of things they couldn't do if they were going to be rearranging themselves every sixty minutes. It went beyond a thrill at the prospect of getting caught and straight into downright annoying.

Kurt didn't know what to tell him to get him to stop. He could always tell Finn the  _truth_ , but somehow he didn't think Finn would be as elated as, say, Azimio or Mercedes...who he also had not told. Although he was almost sure she would understand, he also knew that Mercedes couldn't keep a secret to save her life. Even barring that, a part of him still wanted to punish her, and wasn't willing to trust her yet. Still, it was hard to stay angry at her when he was so happy on a daily basis, so he resumed his weekly shopping trips with Mercedes, Rachel, Tina, and Melodie. He confided in no one, but he felt a superficial kind of satisfaction in the giggly time he spent with his girls, just the same.

It was becoming easier and easier to keep people just that careful arm's length away.

* * *

"Let me take you out on a date." It came out of the blue. He didn't even know he was going to say it; the words just popped out of his mouth between heated kisses. Kurt pulled back immediately, eyes suddenly wary and guarded, and Dave cursed himself silently, realizing he had overstepped one of Kurt's careful and invisible lines.

"Forget it," he said quickly, before Kurt could open his mouth to start the awkward conversation that would lead to being dumped.  _Can you get dumped if you're the "other guy?" We're not even dating._

It occurred to Dave, for the first time, just how truly messed up his current situation was.

Kurt was still holding their bodies apart, hands on Dave's shoulders and elbows locked, looking him in the eyes and searching for something. For what? Dave had no idea.

Whatever it was, Kurt seemed to find it after a minute, because he leaned back in, hesitantly, to press a kiss to Dave's lips. Dave closed his eyes and kissed back, that last bit of hesitance fading from one moment to the next. As the two of them rolled around on Kurt's bed, kissing and teasing one another, pressing practiced fingers to sensitive skin and biting back all their noises to avoid attention from the people upstairs, Dave tried not to let his mind wander away from the exploits of his body. He tried not to think about curling up on the couch with a movie, about long conversations, or walking in the park on Christmas morning.

He tried not to think of Kurt with snow in his hair and a bright blue-green scarf wrapped around his neck, looking up at Dave with something more in his eyes than lust.

* * *

"Kurt?"

Kurt was jerked abruptly out of his reverie to see Blaine looking across the table at him, concern and just the barest hint of annoyance written in his features. Kurt straightened up and smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just have a lot on my mind today. What were you saying?"

"I was asking you what's on your mind."

"Oh." Kurt could feel the heat climbing in his face. He looked down at the table, ashamed of himself, but before he could spiral too far down into a guilt trip, he risked a glance at Blaine's face…and they both burst out laughing.

"What—is so—freaking funny?" Kurt managed to wheeze out after a moment.

"I have  _no_ idea," Blaine chuckled. "You just looked like such a… _god…_ such a kicked little puppy!" And they were off again, laughing at Kurt's shamefaced distraction until any possible tension had dissipated entirely. That was what Kurt loved about Blaine; he was the kind of happy, easy-going person that could let laughter just wipe everything else out. When they were together it was easy to pretend Kurt had no problems at all.

"So, Blaine," he said mischievously. "Are the Warblers ready to face McKinley in a couple of weeks?"

"Hey now, no poking around for information," Blaine admonished playfully. "But yes. Pardon my seeming overconfidence, Mr. Hummel, but I am fairly certain we will wipe the floor with you."

"Oh really?" Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Well, we'll just see, Mr. Anderson. I have a ten dollar bill that says you'll eat those words."

"Deal," Blaine said. "But if we win, I don't want your ten dollars. I have something much better in mind."

"Oh? And what's that?"

Blaine leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Well," he says. "Rachel sent me this great video of you in a Cheerios outfit. I've always wanted to make out with a cheerleader."

Kurt almost choked on his latte, and then Blaine was off again, laughing so hard he was practically snorting into the wood surface of the table. Kurt composed himself and rolled his eyes fondly at the other boy.

"It's a deal, then. Prepare to owe me ten dollars, and a new friend, because I'm going to  _kill_ Rachel Berry when I see her."

* * *

When Dave arrived at Kurt's house on Thursday with his guitar in tow, it was Finn that answered the door instead of Kurt. He was thrown off for half a second, but he tried not to show it. Usually Kurt dragged him downstairs before he even had a moment to glimpse the rest of the family.

"Hey man," Finn said, voice and face oddly friendly. He had been either avoiding Dave or glaring at him since the championship game, so eye contact and a smile put Dave instantly on the alert.

"Hey Finn," he said carefully. "Where's Kurt?"

"He's downstairs. Must've lost track of time. Come on in."

"Thanks," Dave said slowly, still suspicious of Finn's friendly demeanor. He stepped inside and gravitated automatically toward the stairs to Kurt's room, but Finn wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the kitchen instead.

"Hey, hang on a minute, man," he said. "I haven't talked to you in forever. Lemme grab you a drink."

"I really ought to get to Kurt," Dave said, fumbling to prop his guitar against a wall and trying unsuccessfully to extract himself from Finn's arm. Frankenteen had a solid grip. "We still have a lot of work to do on the song-"

"No problem," Finn said, insistent. "This'll only take a minute."

He deposited Dave in a chair at the counter and gave him a look that clearly said stay there before moving to the other side of the kitchen and grabbing two sodas from the fridge. He popped them both open and tossed one to Dave.

"Sorry it's diet," Finn said. "Kurt's practically an addict."

"Yeah, I know," Dave said, face softening automatically and voice just a bit too affectionate. He schooled his features quickly, but Finn's eyes narrowed. He was caught.

"Yeah. I guess you do."

"Look man, thanks for the drink but I really gotta-"

"You need to stop fooling around with Kurt." Finn's words froze Dave up, stopped his voice. He kept his face as impassive as possible, but Finn wasn't searching for confirmation. He already knew.

"I know you guys aren't spending all that time writing a song for Regionals, and I know you guys are more than just friends, no matter what Kurt says. That's my thing, remember? I _know_ people. And I know a pair of cheaters when I see them."

"Hey-" Dave started, but Finn stopped him, and really…what was he going to do? Defend Kurt's honor? That's just what they were: a couple of cheaters.

"I get it, okay? You liked Kurt a lot. Hell, maybe you even loved him. Maybe you still do. But what you guys are doing is wrong. You're not just hurting Blaine, although that would be bad enough. This is bad for Kurt, too. And you."

Dave just stared at Finn, trying hard not to let the shame show on his face.

"You think it isn't going to devastate Kurt, when he wakes up and realizes what he's doing? You think he isn't going to feel like crap for cheating on Blaine, or for using you? And what about you, Dave? Are you really willing to let somebody use you like this?"

"It's not-he isn't-"

"He isn't using you. Okay. So he's still in love with you, then. You guys go on secret dates and hold hands under the table when nobody's looking. He tells you things he doesn't think he can tell Blaine. He tells you he loves you."

Dave said nothing.

"He tells you he likes you?"

Nothing.

"That's what I thought." Finn sighed, looking sad all of a sudden and a lot older than Dave would have thought his goofy face could look.

"Here's how it works, Dave: I used Rachel. Quinn used Puck. Rachel used Puck. I used Quinn and she used me. We loved the people we were with. That's why we were with them. We got sidetracked and distracted by something pretty or something different, but it was never about love with that other person. That's why they _were_ the other person. I'm sorry."

Dave didn't say anything for a few minutes. He stared at his soda and thought through what Finn was saying. Something about it didn't quite ring true, but at the same time it all made sense. If Kurt wanted him for more than sex, they would be together. Instead, Kurt was sneaking him past his family and keeping him away from his friends, making out with him in dark corners and meanwhile, going on dates in public with his perfect boyfriend. Blaine. The kind of guy everyone always thought Kurt would end up with.

"I'd better go. We have a lot of work to do," Dave said, voice hollow. He got up and headed toward Kurt's room. Finn watched him go, face drawn and unhappy, wondering if anything he just said would make a difference.

* * *

Kurt was listening to his  _Wicked_  playlist for perhaps the thousandth time, taking a rare moment to relax and just stare up at his ceiling, losing himself in the music. He sat up, startled, when he heard the door at the top of the stairs open.

It was just Dave with his guitar case slung over one shoulder, and Kurt glanced immediately at the clock, amazed that he'd forgotten the time completely. He took out his earbuds and opened his mouth to apologize, but then he stopped. Something was different. Dave wasn't smiling, for one thing. His shoulders were hunched and he looked...defeated, somehow. Kurt slid off his bed and crossed the room, taking Dave's hand in an unusual show of affection. Dave didn't respond at all. When Kurt leaned up to kiss him, he pulled himself gently away and went to sit down on the couch. He swung his guitar case around to balance it on his lap and began unzipping it.

Despite the fact that they were supposed to be writing a song for Regionals, Kurt hadn't watched Dave play in a long time. He approached cautiously, no longer sure exactly how to handle Dave when he wasn't…well,  _handling_ him.

"Dave?"

Dave didn't answer; he was focused on the guitar strings. Sturdy hands twisted the tuners on the end as a practiced ear listened. Kurt wanted to reach out, pull the guitar away, and get Dave's attention back…but he couldn't. He didn't want to seem so eager when Dave was so clearly  _not_ , and besides…something about watching Dave work so intently was mesmerizing.

Once the guitar was tuned to his satisfaction, Dave readjusted his grip on it and strummed a few chords, humming along in his husky baritone. Then he began to play, and sing.

_She don't know you, but she swears she knows your type. Got a mouth full of opinions, and most are wrong but they all sound right. And the ring on her finger is only there to make you wish you were…the one for her._

_Oh, half of my heart's got a grip on the situation. Half of my heart takes time. Half of my heart's got a right mind to tell you that I can't keep lovin' you…with half of my heart._

_There's a reason no one knows her name. If she don't tell you, then she never has to change it. She's allergic to "I love you," and staying in one place for too long. If you blink she's gone._

_So I'm praying, to keep me from breaking…from being another loser helpless at her side. And it's crazy. It's like no one can save me this time. She's got me praying to the wrong god every night…with half of my heart._

_Half of my heart's got a real good imagination. Half of my heart's got you, and I can't stop loving you. I can't stop loving you. I can't keep praying to keep me from breaking. I can't keep loving you…with half of my heart._

Kurt stared down at Dave, who was looking up at him with a strange combination of emotions playing across his features: his face seemed so relaxed and open, but his eyes were guarded and his shoulders were tense. Kurt felt a sudden stab of panic.

"That was…beautiful, David." He sat down on the couch beside him, their knees barely brushing. He felt more timid than he had in a long time as he reached out a hand to tentatively brush Dave's arm. He could feel the tense muscles there, the small twitch as Dave reflexively started to jerk away, but stopped himself. The panic morphed from a stab to a crushing weight.

"I—"

"Can we just…work on the song today?" Dave cut him off before he could say anything else. "I don't feel much like anything else."

"Okay," Kurt rasped around the lump that was suddenly lodged in his throat. He should deny Dave's request. He knew he should. Music was something he did with his friends and with Blaine. Sure, they were  _supposed_  to be working on the song, but…music, and talking, and spending time together…these weren't things he could do with Dave anymore. It would be easy—far too easy—to forget just why he couldn't let himself fall right back in love with him.

The relief on Dave's face was so profound, Kurt couldn't bring himself to take it back. He reached forward hesitantly, motioning toward the guitar in Dave's arms.

"So…can you teach me how to play this thing?" He asked. It was the right question. Dave's face broke into a surprised, delighted smile that made Kurt's heart clench. It was all he could do not to push the guitar to the floor and kiss him senseless.

"Sure," Dave said. "Here, you hold it like this." He moved the instrument to Kurt's lap and positioned himself slightly behind Kurt, wrapping his arms around him and showing him how to hold the guitar. Kurt willed himself to relax, to focus on what Dave was teaching him instead of on the warmth of Dave's body wrapped around him. He listened to Dave's soft, patient voice as he explained about frets and chords and finger placement.

When Finn made his customary appearance an hour later, he found Kurt and Dave both pristine, without a single hair out of place or a wrinkle in their clothes. Kurt was painstakingly plucking out a song on the guitar—he wasn't very good, Finn couldn't even tell what it was supposed to be—and Dave was smiling and nodding, correcting his finger placement and praising him enthusiastically when Kurt managed to get through a whole bar without help.

Finn considered the open, genuinely happy look on Kurt's face for a moment before quietly backing his way out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him silently with a tiny smile on his face.


	35. Get It Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Directions goes to Regionals, and Kurt has an epiphany.

In the final two weeks leading up to Regionals, something fundamental had changed. Kurt wasn't sure when it happened; maybe it started the day Dave put the brakes on their periodic illicit rendezvous and refused to touch him any more than he was required to in order to teach him to play the guitar. Maybe it started well before that, even.

All he knew was that increasingly, when he looked at Dave he didn't want to cry or kick something. And when he heard his voice, his mind didn't force him through an instant replay of those ugly words in the locker room.

For the first time in a long time, all he saw and heard was…Dave.

Dave gently correcting his hold on the guitar, skin warm and palms roughly calloused but his touch so gentle, like he was afraid to allow more contact between them than absolutely necessary. Dave, leaning in close over sheet music and crossing out a line, re-writing, correcting, refining…honing the song they hoped would take the New Directions to a first place win at Regionals and all the way to Nationals in New York.

Dave catching Kurt's eye and smiling shyly before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the task at hand. Dave, turning Kurt's heart inside out with the longing to pull his attention back, push the music to the side and crawl into his lap and kiss him until they both forgot how to breathe.

And Kurt could, he knew he could any time he wanted. Dave hadn't said it, but Kurt knew that under the right circumstances, Dave would let Kurt back in without a moment's hesitation. The problem was what Kurt would have to do—who else he would have to hurt—to bring about those perfect circumstances.

The problem, in short—and no pun intended—was Blaine.

Blaine, who had been there for Kurt, been a friend and a good boyfriend and a willing ear whenever Kurt needed one. Blaine, who knew Kurt still had feelings for Dave and didn't care, who hadn't said a single word against all the time Kurt had been spending alone with Dave working on this song. Blaine, who had never asked Kurt for anything he didn't offer to give and never complained about how little he did offer. Blaine who was so sweet, with his innocent kisses and chaste hand-holding, his gentlemanly dates and open, unashamed displays of affection. Blaine, who would proudly introduce himself to Kurt's parents and brother as his boyfriend, who wouldn't shuffle and look at his shoes and then creep off to Kurt's room to be his boyfriend in private, where no one could see.

Dave was afraid, and Kurt understood that, and he couldn't fault him or blame him for it. But Blaine was  _not_ afraid, and Kurt couldn't hurt him. He felt like he would be punishing Blaine for not being Dave…and how messed up was  _that?_

The frenetic excitement of Regionals was unlike anything else, and Kurt loved it. He breathed in the smells of hairspray, carpet, shampoo, taffeta, and cough drops, and a smile lit his face in spite of his slight nerves. They were going to win Regionals this year. He could  _feel_ it.

He held himself back a bit, as usual, from the nucleus of insanity that was Rachel Berry before a performance. Her head was practically spinning, and he briefly entertained the image of it spinning right off her shoulders and escaping to terrorize the general populace with an endless stream of inspirational Barbra Streisand quotes.

"You imagining her morphing into a speedballing Chihuahua too, or is that just me?" Said a fatigued voice at his shoulder. A laugh burst from his lips before he could cover it, and he missed Rachel's glare in favor of turning to see Melodie slump into the chair beside him.

"Something like that," he admitted in a whisper. "You ready?"

"Are you kidding? I was born ready. I could do this in my sleep."

"No snoozing on stage, Dee," Kurt admonished playfully. "I don't care how well your snores harmonize, the judges dock points if they see your eyes closed."

"How many points do they dock if your lead singer vibrates herself into another dimension in mid-solo?"

" _Some_ of us," Rachel cut into their giggling, "are rehearsing and preparing and getting into the proper mindset before we perform. Some of us are dedicated. Some of us  _care."_

"Some of us forgot our tranquilizers and the rest of us regret that oversight deeply," Melodie shot back. Ire spent, Rachel decided to ignore her in favor of going back to practicing her breathing exercises.

"Woah there," Kurt said. "You okay? 'Cause you know, we already have a Santana."

"Monopoly is the death of capitalism, Kurt," Melodie deadpanned.

"And sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," he bit back, before adding more gently, "Not that it's ever stopped me. Seriously, what's wrong?" Melodie sighed.

"It's…Sam," she confessed. "He's…more important to me than I wanted him to be, and I don't know how that happened or what to do about it. I don't even know  _when_ it happened. I was so careful to keep him just at arm's length. How did he get so  _close_? It's frustrating to realize you've let someone in without meaning to, and terrifying to worry when it's gonna backfire, y'know?"

"Yes," Kurt said sadly. "I'm afraid I do."

They sat in subdued silence for a moment. Then Kurt perked up.

"You know what," he said, turning to Melodie. "We're gonna do what all great performers do."

"And that is?" Melodie prompted, already looking skeptical.

"We're gonna get on that stage and take everything we feel, and just put it all into those songs."

"That's cute and all, Kurt," Melodie said, "but somehow I don't think my mountains of anxiety over possibly hurting Sam will add very much emotional integrity to a bouncy, upbeat pop song about owning your loser status."

"No no no," Kurt said excitedly, turning to face her more fully. "It's not about that. Just think of your emotions like potential energy. You have all that conviction of feeling stored up, just waiting to be let out. You just have to control it. Let it out in a form  _you_ choose."

"Okay, Master Yoda," Melodie quipped affectionately. "I'll give it a try."

"Do or do not," Kurt intoned. "There is no try."

Melodie stared. Kurt crossed his arms and arched a judgmental eyebrow.

"What?" He said coolly. "I'm  _gay,_ not culturally inept!"

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. Kurt sighed.

"Fine," he said with a haughty toss of his head. "I watched them with your cousin."

Melodie was abruptly quiet, and Kurt turned to find that she was staring at him, mouth open.

"What?" He said waspishly.

"Nothing," she hurried. "It's just…that's the first time I've heard you talk about Dave in ages without…" she trailed off, uncertain.

"Without bursting into tears?" He said dryly. Melodie flushed and looked down at her hands.

"Yeah," she admitted. "You know, I was really worried about Dave there for a while. But lately, he's been a little better. Since the two of you started working on this song together, actually. You guys seem like you're becoming friends again." Her voice was a question even though her words didn't ask one. Kurt sighed and directed his attention at the pale skin of his own hands.

"Dave and I  _are_ friends, Dee," he said softly. "The thing I'm not so sure about is what else we are. I just…I don't know how everything got into such a mess, and I don't know how to get out of it without hurting someone. I don't want to hurt people."

Melodie leaned into his shoulder.

"I know, Kurt," she said. "I know you don't. But…sometimes a little pain's inevitable, isn't it? To save a lot more pain later on?"

"Probably. Which is a stupid system," he replied morosely. Melodie nodded against his shoulder.

"I know, K," she said, voice wistful and said. "I know." And for a moment, Kurt felt like the worst friend in the world. It was always about him, his hurt pride and his problems. What about his friends? What about Mercedes, beating herself up for weeks over one stupid mistake? What about Rachel, missing Finn and too proud to talk about it? What about Tina, always chafing quietly under the weight of being overlooked time and again, and never saying a word about it, content to do her part and wait her turn? What about Melodie, far from home and feeling like her friends have all forgotten about her, stuck in the middle between Dave and Kurt and afraid to get close to anyone in case it all gets ripped away again?

What about Dave? And what about Blaine? And  _what about Dave?_

Kurt had no answers, but the questions wouldn't stop repeating in his mind. By the time it was their turn to go on stage his stomach was in knots, and it had almost nothing to do with performance jitters.

_What have I done? I wish I could run away from this ship going under. Just trying to help, hurt everyone else. Now I feel the weight of the world is on my shoulders…_

The words were slightly different from the way he'd written it originally—Rachel had wanted him to make it a more "universal" ballad, or something—but Dave still recognized the opening lines of the song he'd written, the song Kurt had helped him rework until it was perfect. His mom leaned over a little and whispered in his ear.

"You wrote this, David?" He nodded, grateful for the darkened theatre as he felt his face heat up. His mom squeezed his arm gently.

"It's beautiful," she said, sounding proud and even a little teary. He hunched in his seat, trying to make himself small even as he felt the grin on his face growing fit to take it over. He looked up at the Glee Club, lit up and glittering in their costumes—turquoise dresses for the girls, all black for the boys—and smiled softly. He caught sight of Kurt, standing near the back with the other boys, and thought of the original words he had written.

* * *

_What have I done? I wish I could run away from this ship going under. Afraid to be myself, I hurt everyone else. Now I feel the chill coming off of your cold shoulder._

_How do I tell myself I can be good enough? I shatter when you come around. All my defenses keep making a mess of things. I just wanna fix it somehow._

At first when he sang it, Kurt would barely look at him. Then, it was like he couldn't look away. Dave poured everything into that song…all his pain and fear, his regret and his loneliness. He felt wrung out when he was finished, but proud.

The old Dave Karofsky allowed his pain to beget pain in others. This new person he was slowly becoming, though, had finally made something good out of all that darkness. He smiled.

And an hour later, when they announced the winner, Dave jumped to his feet and cheered louder, clapped harder than anybody. After all, it was his win, too.

* * *

He took the bundle of yellow roses from his mother. Yellow roses symbolized friendship, according to Wikipedia. He thought Kurt would appreciate the gesture. His dad pulled a second bundle, bright purple, from the back seat of the car. They were for Melodie. Dave had a feeling that had less to do with the meaning of purple flowers than the fact that Melodie liked everything to be eye-wateringly bright.

"Who're the yellow ones for again?" Dave's father asked as he was turning back toward the building. Dave froze, face going pale. He cut his eyes over to his mother. She gave him an encouraging nod. He took a deep breath.

_Unclench your fists.  
_ _Tell the truth, if you dare._

"They're for Kurt," Dave said softly, and he didn't try to make himself sound nonchalant. He didn't try to look put-upon, like he was being made to be nice to the gay kid. He didn't stop the proud, timid little smile he could feel creeping across his face at the thought of Kurt. For once, he left it all on show, looked over at his dad with his eyes shining and a blush creeping across his cheeks, holding flowers he bought for a boy.

"Kurt Hummel?" His dad asked.

"Yeah," Dave said. "He loves roses."  _And I love him._

"That's a very sweet gesture, David," his father said. "I'm impressed. I was never good with romantic gestures, just ask your mother."

"He's terrible at them," she agreed, grinning widely as she slipped her arm through his. Dave gaped.

"Uh…thanks? Dad?"

His father smiled at him.

"Well," he said. "Go on, find the boy and give him his flowers!"

"Yeah, of course," Dave said, flustered. "Just…uh…so you get…I mean you understand…you know I'm—"

"Trying to get back together with Kurt, I take it."

Dave opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at his mother and raised a questioning eyebrow, but she just shrugged and shook her head as if to say "no, I didn't tell him." Dave's father chuckled.

"Suffice it to say your old dad's not that blind and you are not that subtle. Now go on! Deliver your flowers. We'll wait."

A smile so wide it almost hurt broke over Dave's face. His father  _knew._ And didn't care any more than his mom had.  _Both of his parents knew he was gay and neither one of them cared._

He turned and practically ran into the building, excited to find Kurt, give him his flowers, and tell him the amazing news.

* * *

From the moment the judge said "Regional Champions: New Directions," Kurt's eyes had been glued to Dave in the crowd. He was the first one out of his seat, clapping so hard it looked like it must hurt his hands and yelling out his joy and congratulations, a beautiful smile across his face. Kurt managed to keep himself from jumping off the stage and running straight to him. Just barely.

Something happened, while he was up there singing. He couldn't put his finger on what or when exactly it clicked, but it did. He was pouring his heart into these songs, and there it was: he loved Dave, not Blaine. He wanted Dave, not Blaine. He didn't want to hurt Blaine, but continuing to pretend would hurt him more in the end, not less. Dave was the one who made his heart race. Dave was the one he thought about constantly. Dave was the one he wanted to be around even when being around him was difficult, even when it hurt. Dave was the one he was willing to  _wait_ for.

He extracted himself from the group hug on stage as soon as he could, but when he looked towards Dave's seat, he and his parents were already gone.

 _They probably went outside to pull the car around for Melodie,_ he thought. He headed back stage with the rest of New Directions, deciding to grab his stuff and walk with her. He was going to talk to Dave Karofsky tonight, one way or another. He needed to tell him how amazing his song was. He needed to tell him he was sorry. And he needed to tell him that he was breaking up with Blaine.

"WE WON!" Melodie shrieked in his ear. He didn't even have the heart to reprimand her. He was too thorough a combination of nervous and happy. He changed and packed his stuff away almost on auto-pilot, keeping one eye on Melodie to make sure she didn't leave without him. Everyone was so excited, talking and laughing, but Kurt's mind was a dazed swirl of  _we won I love him oh god we won I love him oh god oh god._

He had just stuffed the last of his performance clothes into his bag and zipped it up when he was tackled and nearly toppled over from behind.

"Oof—what?!"

"Kurt! You guys won!" Someone spun him around, and it was Blaine. He was rosy-cheeked and grinning from ear to ear. As always, that grin was infectious, and Kurt couldn't help but return the smile even as he felt a pang of regret.  _I'm so sorry that I'm going to hurt you._

"You were all amazing," Blaine said earnestly. "I am  _so proud_ of you." And then he leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to Kurt's lips. It was meant to be a kiss of congratulations, but to Kurt it felt far too much like a kiss good-bye.

He dropped his bag and wrapped both arms around Blaine, pulling him in and holding him, prolonging that kiss. There were some whoops, giggles and even a startled gasp from the people around him, but he ignored them all. He didn't know whether Blaine would ever want to speak to him again, whether he would be willing to remain friends after Kurt broke up with him…and Kurt would  _miss_ him, because Kurt  _did_ love him. He loved the way Blaine was effusive and unabashed about everything, the way he listened and always tried to understand, even when he couldn't. He was there for Kurt when Kurt was hurting, he was the first person to make Kurt laugh when he thought he'd all but forgotten how, and if he never spoke to Kurt again after Kurt did what he knew he had to do, he would take a little piece of Kurt's heart with him when he went.

He was slow to pull back, slow to let go. His eyes fluttered open slowly and he stared down into Blaine's dazed, happy expression. He smiled, but it was small and sad.

"Oh Blaine," he said softly. "Thank you."

"Of course, Kurt. No need to thank me," Blaine said, bemused. "I  _love_ you." Kurt could swear he felt a fissure in his heart.

"I love you, too," he said, and he meant it.

He extricated himself from Blaine's arms and picked up his bag, slinging it over one shoulder.

"I'm gonna walk Dee to her car, okay? Can you wait for me? I'd like to talk to you."

"I'll be right here," Blaine said, smiling. Not understanding. Kurt made himself turn and walk away. It hurt, but with every step his heart felt lighter. He was so dazed with his mixed emotions that he would have walked right past Dave without seeing him, if the flash of yellow hadn't caught his eye.

Dave was slumped against the wall in the shadow of an alcove, eyes on the floor and shoulders rounded forward. He looked tired, and sad. It was a jarring contrast to the bright roses he was holding in his arms.

"Dave?" He looked up, and his eyes were red. He stepped forward and offered Kurt the bundled of roses without a smile.

"Oh…they're beautiful." Kurt took the flowers, smiling but confused. "Thank you."

"Congratulations," Dave said in a flat voice.

"You too," Kurt returned. "We couldn't have done it without your song. It was perfect." Something was wrong. Dave was upset, and Kurt couldn't figure out why.

"Dave, I—"

"I need to go, my parents are waiting outside." He turned away.

"Wait!" Kurt reached out to grab Dave's shoulder. Dave froze.

"Please don't touch me, Kurt," he said softly. Kurt withdrew his hand, stung.

"What…I don't—"

"You know, I never really got it? The whole Blaine thing. I never understood it until now."

Kurt's eyes widened, realization dawning. Dave had seen him kissing Blaine. Kissing him  _goodbye,_ but how was Dave to know that? Kurt imagined what it must have looked like from Dave's perspective.

"Oh God…Dave, no. I'm so sorry. That…it wasn't what you think—"

Dave didn't turn, but he didn't walk away either.

"Why are you apologizing for kissing your boyfriend? You're allowed to kiss him. You're  _supposed_  to kiss him. I just…it never hit me until right this second, how totally fucked up we've been."

"Dave, please." Dave turned, then, and Kurt blanched at the sight of his face. It was as though all color had drained from it, all the joy from earlier, all the pride. He just looked sad. Sad, and so, so tired.

"I'm not the one you should be saying 'please' to, Kurt." His voice was low, and full of pain. "I'm not the one who deserves an explanation, and I'm definitely not the one you should be apologizing to." He turned again, and began walking away from Kurt, down the hall. Kurt felt a slow panic rising in him; this wasn't supposed to happen. He  _loved_ Dave, he still loved him after everything, and he was finally ready to admit it. He had to  _tell_ him. Kurt gripped the roses tighter and followed after him, determined.

"Dave, wait, I have to tell you something."

"Go away, Kurt."

"Dave, please—"

"Just save it, alright?" Dave almost yelled, rounding on him. Kurt froze at the angry look on his face.

"You know what I've been trying to figure out?" Dave asked. "Why is it that you're the only one in this…whatever we are…that gets to break their promises? Why is it okay for you to push when you said you wouldn't, and get angry when you said you understood, and cheat on your boyfriend, and use me and break my heart? Why is it okay for you to try to make me come out of the closet before I'm ready, when you can't even admit to yourself that you're still in love with me? Why are you the only one who gets to be scared, huh?"

"David…" Kurt quailed under the flood of angry words, each one barbed with truth and stinging as they hit their marks. Dave wasn't finished; he hadn't even started.

"Why do I make excuses for you in my head?" He said, gesturing wildly. "Why do I sit around telling myself I deserve it for all the shit I did to you? Why am I waiting around with flowers like an  _idiot_  while you're kissing your goddamn boyfriend?" He was nearly yelling, shoulders stiff with hurt and anger, expression open and guarded by turns. He was keeping his distance from Kurt, as though afraid if they made physical contact it would shatter one or both of them. Kurt just looked at him, breathless with hurt at his words. He didn't know what to say. All of the things Dave accused him of were true. He was a complete hypocrite, and he was hurting the people he claimed to care about.

A moment passed, and all the fight seemed to go out of Dave's body. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer, and so full of pain it made something in Kurt ache till he wanted to reach inside and rip it out.

"I just kept asking myself these questions, over and over. But you know what? I finally figured it out." He raised his head and looked at Kurt from behind a sheen of tears.

"It's because of the way we started out. I never got a clean slate with you, not really. So we were doomed from the start. I mean think about it…I'll take whatever you're willing to give because I don't feel like I deserve anything else. And you don't feel bad at all about using me because you haven't forgiven me either, whatever you say."

"Dave,  _no._ " Kurt choked out. He couldn't seem to force a stronger argument from his lips. He was awash in hurt and horrorstruck with the full reality of what he'd been doing, how he'd been treating Dave  _and_ Blaine. And yet somewhere underneath all that and rising fast was an anger so deep and hot it scared him. It was the kind of anger that kicked over chairs and said horrible things to people who were supposed to be friends. It was the kind of anger that cornered a bully in a locker room and yelled in his face, pushing until he did something desperate. Dave managed an exasperated sneer through his tears.

"Just admit it, Kurt. Some part of you still hates me, and that part enjoys hurting me because it's payback for the way I used to hurt you."

Kurt opened his mouth, though he wasn't sure what he could say. All that came out was an ugly sound that might have been a laugh. It was the sound of a person who was about to hurt someone.

" _Used_  to hurt me?" He said softly, dangerously. He stepped towards Dave, expression thunderous. "You think you  _used to hurt me_ , David? Do I look  _happy_ to you? Do I look unhurt?  _God_ , you're even dumber than you look."

"And you're not as sweet and innocent as  _you_ look. All hail Kurt Hummel, paragon of virtue. At least till you get a few drinks in him and he decides other people's feelings don't matter."

That was it. Kurt was done.

"Shut up. Shut _up_  you insufferable, ignorant, asshole! You lied to me. You think I didn't know you were lying? You kept telling me you were okay, when you  _weren't._  You wouldn't just talk to me. You wouldn't just tell me what was going on with you. I never needed you to be honest with everyone, but you weren't even honest with  _me!"_

That pulled Dave up short. He looked down at his shoes and mumbled something, looking almost shamefaced. Kurt remained unmoved.

"What was that? Grunt a little louder, Neanderthal, some of us in the front row can't hear you."

Dave's head shot up, and he glared.

"I didn't want to hurt you, okay?" He snapped. "I was so excited when we were all working on the halftime number together. I started to think things might actually change. I started to think I might come out and nobody would even care, it would just be like it always was. And then we get slushied by the hockey team, and suddenly you guys are freaks and glee club is gay and it's like  _nothing_ was different! Just because they got scared! I didn't want you to know that people could be such…such…"

"Cowards?" Kurt bit out. "I hate to break it to you, Dave, but that ship sailed a long time ago. And anyway, how does that work, exactly? You didn't want me to find out they were cowardly jerks, so you thought it would hurt less for me to witness it from  _you_ firsthand?"

"I was  _terrified,_ Kurt! I was so afraid of losing my best friend. What if he hated me. What if he told someone else, or  _everyone_ else? What if it got back to my dad before I had a chance to tell him?  _All_  the parents of the football players know each other. I wasn't ready! And I didn't see another way to make him leave me alone."

"And  _that_ is why this would never work, David." Kurt spit the words at him, feeling his heart break and his anger subside even as he said them. He wanted the anger to stay, to numb him against the horrible loneliness that was already surging inside him, the ache he felt whenever he looked at Dave knowing he couldn't touch.

"It's not because you were scared. It's not even because you were ashamed. It's because you think lashing out at other people to protect yourself is okay. You don't care if they get hurt, as long as your secret is safe. Whatever pain you cause them, they should just bear it and be  _understanding,_ because you're scared."

He looked down at the flowers in his arms.

"I can't take these," he murmured. He held them out without looking up. He felt Dave take them, somehow managing not to touch the bare skin of his arms in the process. Kurt was grateful, at least, for that small mercy.

"I can't do this anymore," Dave said. "I can't go around and around with you like this, not if that's really what you think of me."

"What else am I supposed to think?" Kurt asked. He hoped for another explanation. He hoped to be told how wrong he was. As usual when it came to Dave, he hoped in vain.

All Dave gave him was a tired sigh before he turned and walked away.

"I'm sorry," Kurt whispered at Dave's retreating back.  _It wasn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to say 'I love you.'_

He couldn't say it now. He'd never be able to say it now.

Kurt turned and retreated back down the hallway, wiping at his eyes and hoping that when he asked Blaine for a ride home, he wouldn't get a million questions.

As usual, Blaine didn't disappoint.

* * *

In two houses in different parts of town, two boys slowly got undressed for bed. Two tired bodies attached to aching heads slid under two sets of covers and sank gratefully into the soft mattresses beneath them. Two minds repeated harsh words spoken in pain and anger over and over, and two hearts in states of similar disrepair beat unevenly as two sets of eyes drifted closed, and they lost their sorrow in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been forever since I updated this! I am so sorry. I'm awful. But it's done now! And I fully intend to update it again soon. Thanks to stidean for the encouragement to start writing this again!


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